Earl Grey and Apple Pie
by Salios
Summary: A good book, a hot cup of tea, and good company were all Harry was interested in. Being British, he had the first two covered. The third? Supplied by one Steve Rogers on a rainy afternoon. Slash, Yaoi, HP/SR
1. Chapter 1

Author: Salios

Date: July 24/12

Fandom: Harry Potter/Avengers Crossover

Pairing: Harry Potter/Steve Rogers (Cpt. America)

Rating: T-M

Warning: This story will contain male/male relationships, including intimacy ranging from light kissing to possible sex. Swearing, and descriptions of violence and gore also possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own either fandom or their associated characters; this is a fan piece and not written for profit.

Earl Grey and Apple Pie.

* * *

It was raining again; it seemed as though no matter where in the world you lived, April was the time for rain. Thick, fat drops splashed against the pavement outside the windows, and against passing people and cars. They rolled down the glass in individual droplets or rivulets, meeting and disengaging. It was a fairly light rain, meaning it would likely go on for a while, not having enough force behind it to be spent quickly.

Harry hummed and turned from the scene outside his shop's front window, going back to stocking the shelves with books. Music played softly from behind the wooden counter; forties blues and jazz that somehow made his toes curl and his spine tingle. Even in this modern time the mementoes of time long since passed were more a siren's call to him than anything the world had managed to create in the last fifty years.

The bell above the shop door chimed softly and he turned atop the ladder to peer around the shelf at his newest customer. While the shop wasn't rundown by any means, he kept it homey and small, without the loud colours and music of modern book stores. His selection was different as well. He catered more to older books and tomes than to new trends. Harry did pride himself on the large section dedicated to cooking and pastries though; though spawning from what he now understood to be abuse, the brunette had somehow cultivated a deep love of food and cooking.

"I'll be just a moment!" He called, attempting the balance the box of books on one arm and seek fairly safe passage back down the precariously steep ladder.

"Take your time, I'm in no rush." The smooth baritone that answered him was calm and distracted.

Harry felt a light flush decorate his cheeks, and managed to stutter out some acceptable response before hurriedly stocking the rest of the books in his grasp. He didn't usually flush like a tomato from an offhand greeting. And by usually, he meant never. He scurried back down the ladder and plopped the box down beside the ladder's feet, intending to deal with the offending piece of cardboard later. He ran a hand through his messy black hair and unconsciously fidgeted with the collar of his oversized red sweater. No matter how well off he had become after the fallout in England and the years of peace after, he still preferred large and comfortable clothing to anything remotely fashionable. His one indulgence had been his eyes though. After so many years being held hostage his dingy old frames, being able to defend himself without them and being pitifully blind within a moment's notice, he had finally gone ahead and had his vision corrected magically. Normally the procedure made no outward appearance to the patient's eyes, leaving them the same hue and brightness as before. For Harry, without any plausible explanation, his eyes had become as bright as fresh grass. While he had previously owned a vibrant green pair of orbs, matching those of his late mother, the hue had brightened to an eye catching shade. It took time, but he had eventually come to terms with the colour change.

He rounded the shelf and looked at the first customer of the afternoon. He was a tall man, likely six foot three or four, with rather broad shoulders and arms to match. His slim waist tapered down into strong hips atop long, lean legs clad in light coloured jeans. He wore a windbreaker, now thoroughly soaked with the afternoon's showers, and runners on his feet. Hearing his footsteps, the customer turned his way.

And Harry honestly lost his breath.

The man's eyes were a pale and vibrant blue, standing out among dark lashes, pale brows, and high cheekbones. His nose was long and pointed, with dark, plump lips below. A slightly dimpled chin matched a dazzling dimpled smile that framed perfectly straight, white teeth. His hair was cut conservatively short, but with enough length to rustle in the wind, the colour matching the pale yellowed-blonde of his brows that came with time in the sun.

He was dazzling, and Harry doubted the man even knew it, if how he stood was any indication.

"I was directed here by a colleague of mine; he suggested that you had copies of old, hard to find books...?" His voice turned up at the end, as though the man didn't was to presume, but was hopeful all the same.

"I do, though it depends on what it is that you're searching for. If I don't have it already in stock, I can take a look and try to obtain it for you." Harry gave the man a small, shy smile.

The stranger's smile intensified, until his white grin was almost painful to look at.

_Oh hell,_ Harry thought. _Here goes any dignity I might have accumulated in my entire life._

He sent back a smile of his own, and prepared for the shy stutter and fumbling hands he had only been too happy to see go.

* * *

I realize this is only a short, teaser type chapters, but after being absent from writing for such a long time, I felt anything more could be dangerous. I would also like to see if there is any interest in this crossover/pairing (other than my own).

Reviews are very much appreciated, and help me construct future chapters and relationships. I have art with this pairing, and would be willing to share it at a later date (once I can be bothered to upload it with credit to the **amazing** artist).

Also, on another note, this chapter was written in one go, without editing or beta-ing, in a tangent/stream of consciousness style.

Aaand... GO!


	2. Chapter 2

Author: Salios

Date: July 24/12

Fandom: Harry Potter/Avengers Crossover

Pairing: Harry Potter/Steve Rogers (Cpt. America)

Rating: T-M

Warning: This story will contain male/male relationships, including intimacy ranging from light kissing to possible sex. Swearing, and descriptions of violence and gore also possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own either fandom or their associated characters; this is a fan piece and not written for profit.

Earl Grey and Apple Pie.

Chapter 2

* * *

Harry brushed the palms of his hands against his thighs in an attempt to both dislodge any dust from the box, and to stop his hands from fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. It was a bad habit really, rolling the fabric of his clothes between his fingertips. It was a fairly new habit, one he wasn't entirely sure was better than biting his nails or lip, but it quickly frayed many of his favourite sweaters. He was willing to blame Molly Weasley, but somehow he had become rather addicted to comfortable sweaters. He could almost liken his love of the soft, colourful, and often oversized garments to the joy he had seen on Dobby's face at a new pair of socks; and how that house-elf had loved his socks.

He smiled shyly at the blonde man in his doorway and reached out his right hand, "I'm Harry, the owner of this shop." His hands were proportionate with his fairly short and lithe stature, but thick with calluses and scars from a lifetime of hard work and ill-fated adventures.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm Steve." The man's hand was a fair bit larger than his own, and enveloped his fingers in a warm, firm embrace.

Harry had to quickly shake hands and turn before the man had time to notice the vibrant flush that was beginning to colour his cheeks. Shaking hands wasn't supposed to make him look like some pubescent girl!

He gave a soft cough before straightening something on the countertop before him and turning back to the man.

"So, do you know what it is that you're looking for?" He inquired, pushing back the flush of his cheeks and the slight goose-flesh that had risen on his arm.

"Ah, well... Not exactly..." The man's pale cheeks flushed ever so slightly in embarrassment. "It's been quite some time since I've had any opportunity to enjoy a good book, and I was wondering if you could direct me..." He shyly scratched the back of his head with one hand, and glanced away, pink still colouring his cheeks.

"Well, to have a colleague refer you, then you would probably be looking for older material, right?" Having been raised by a family that kept him as far from any modern convenience as possible, and then being immersed in a very technophobic community; due of course to magic generally mucking about with technology and causing all kinds of explosions and disasters, the brunette had stuck with what he knew. He had kept to books from the former half of the century, and hadn't much delved into the newer modern works that seemed to be flooding the literature market. He had read much by Jane Austin and Daniel Defoe, dipping in and out of works by J.R.R. Tolkien, Mercedes Lackey, and even Shakespeare. His preference was in older works, but he wasn't against looking at new material now and then.

The man blinked and then nodded, lowering his hand back to his side. He then promptly hissed as his warm palm touched the cold, sodden fabric of his jacket. Outside of the store was now a complete downpour, wind blowing the thick droplets into sheets that pounded windows, pavement and cars alike. The wind even whistled a bit as it passed, and shook the windows slightly.

"Ah, well... If you have time, I can see about drying that coat while we find what you're looking for...?" Harry didn't want to presume the man had time, but with such horrid weather and no specific title in mind, he was reluctant to let the man leave without at least first drying off.

"You... You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not, I did offer after all. Besides that, if you have the time we could narrow down the rather extensive list of what it is that you're looking to enjoy." Harry smiled at him and held out his right hand, palm up. "So, this would be where you hand me the soggy jacket, I hang it up to dry in front of the fireplace, and get you a cup of tea to warm your sodden bones."

Steve laughed, and grinned at him, "Honestly, a cup of tea sounds delicious right about now." He used one hand to open the flat hiding the zipper at his throat, and the other to pull the metal tab downwards, opening the row of metallic teeth.

Apparently the windbreaker had not been made with torrential New York rain in mind.

The white shirt beneath the black coat was equally soaked and clung to every dip and curve of the man's chest as it was revealed. Steve more or less peeled the black piece of fabric off his shoulders and arms, having to bring his arms together, still clad in the cloth up to his elbows, to tug one side past a thickly muscled bicep.

Harry nearly had a nose-bleed as his customer's pectorals came together.

Soon enough after the coat was dislodged from Steve's person, and placed into Harry's waiting hand, which dipped under the sudden and unexpected weight.

"Sweet Merlin - !" Harry coughed in an attempt to cover his swear. "How long were you out there? This thing weighs a ton!"

Steve chuckled, a deep sound, and grinned sheepishly at the shorter man.

"Longer than I'm willing to admit. I don't mind the rain so much, and I didn't have far to go when the rain began." He shivered slightly as another gale of wind wailed through the door frame.

Harry gave him a chiding look, "You, good sir, are completely soaked. And while I don't ever ask such things from my customers, I demand you give me that shirt as well to dry." Harry looked away, eyes closed and nose lifted up. "You will no doubt catch cold as you are now!"

He missed the tiny smile and bright flush that his words elicited from Steve.

Looking in from the street, there was a large cobblestone fireplace to the right of the door and against one wall. Harry pulled out a clothes horse from the corner and set up the blonde's coat on the rack. Without looking back, Harry walked quickly behind the counter and towards the back of the shop.

"I'll be right back with a sweater for you!" He nearly ran once he was out of sight, biting his lower lip and flushed a bright cherry red.

He was honestly not enjoying the Harlequin cliché that this day had become!

* * *

Steve stood at the door to the shop with his sodden shirt in one hand, face flushed. He had never been a fan of being without clothing, even after taking the Doctor's serum. He wasn't comfortable being unclothed, and especially in such an awkward situation. Harry, for only have just met him, was going out of his way to not only help Steve find the literature he had been craving for months, but to get him warm and dry. So while he would much rather be back in his shirt and coat, he appreciated the man's gesture.

The sudden and rather embarrassing gesture.

As Steve hung his shirt to dry beside the coat, enjoying the warmth of the flames, he belatedly wondered if the petite man could possibly own anything that would fit his large frame.

* * *

Harry ducked into his flat above the store and through the door into his bedroom where he began tearing through his closet. He knew that somewhere, he had a sweater large enough to fit the man in the shop. Most of his sweaters were oversized on his frame, but would likely be too tight a fit for Steve. He owned a few that had been gifts and much too large, even for his tastes. But instead of getting rid of them, even years later, Harry had held onto the pieces.

With a triumphant cry of "Ahah!" muffled by the multitude of brightly coloured sweaters, Harry's hand shot up, clenching within it a sky blue sweater.

Not wanting to leave the man standing any more awkwardly, he practically flew from the room and down the stairs, skidding to a stop and very nearly colliding with Steve.

The blonde stared down at his flushed face with wide, surprised eyes.

"Err, well, here you are!" Harry thrust the sweater into the other's hands and stepped back and away, turning swiftly to face the other direction. He busied himself with making a pot of tea as Steve pulled the soft garment on, already warmed bodily by the fire. "Would you like any milk or sugar in your tea?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, a bit of both please." Came the soft reply, followed by the scuff of sneakers on the wood flooring.

Harry made quick work of the tea, preparing a cup for Steve in the same fashion that he took his own. He turned back to Steve, hands grasping thick coffee mugs, and nearly tripped over his own feet.

_Sweet Merlin, I really need to get laid..._

* * *

For anyone wondering, I have posted links to the fan art for this story, along with an explanation, in my profile.

This chapter, for anyone who is curious, was completed within an hour of it's start (I think that may be a new record for me). It's slightly longer than the last, and again, un-beta'd.

Feel free to send in reviews concerning critiques and suggestions. I realize that this chapter is going a little faster than I had intended, but it won't be as transparent as most in this position, nor as predictable.

Should anyone wish to make fan-art of any kind, I would be more than happy to see it!

Thanks! Sal.


	3. Chapter 3

Author: Salios

Date: December 12, 2012

Fandom: Harry Potter/Avengers Crossover

Pairing: Harry Potter/Steve Rogers (Cpt. America)

Rating: T-M

Warning: This story will contain male/male relationships, including intimacy ranging from light kissing to possible sex. Swearing and descriptions of violence and gore also possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own either fandom or their associated characters; this is a fan piece and not written for profit.

Earl Grey and Apple Pie: Chapter 3

* * *

Harry very nearly spilled piping hot tea on his toes as he spotted Steve.

The man, because he was very much a man in the physical sense, was adorable. He seemed very shy of his own muscular form, as though it was something new and awe inspiring to him. It gave harry the impression of someone who had been surprised with power.

Steve stood with his hands at his sides, the sweater stretched across his shoulders tightly. The zipper was only half zipped, baring a few inches of pale, creamy skin, unmarked by time or war. One of the thick, white shoelace strings from the hood was tucked into the open portion of the sweater. He very much wanted to step in close and gently remove it; of course this would give him prime seating to inspect that enticing peek of flesh, and maybe get a whiff of the man's scent. Hey, everyone had their kinks, and he had always appreciated a man who smelled well.

Harry smiled and stepped forward, passing the warming mug to the shy blonde. He took it with a gentle smile and soft hands. He cradled the lightly steaming mug between long fingers and broad palms. Harry found a flush beginning to cross his cheeks and coughed, turning on the ball of his foot. He was doing that a lot today: the turning **and** the blushing.

Oh, and he had a thing for broad hands too, damn.

"Was there a period or topic in particular you were interested in? It could really narrow down the search." He laughed a little, forcing back his flush. He made the few steps away from the foyer where Steve stood to the counter. He slipped behind it and hopped up onto his stool, bringing him to eye level with the tall, fit blonde.

Steve padded after him across the aged wooden floor and stood across from harry on the other side of the counter.

"Well, I'm interested in... uh..." He looked a bit uncomfortable.

Harry only watched him, waiting patiently.

"Well, warfare." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

Harry blinked. "Oh! No reason to be embarrassed about that; our species has been fighting amongst ourselves for millennia, and at this rate I doubt that it'll stop any time soon. Best we can do, those of us preferring not to engage in war ourselves, is to learn what we can. War has shaped every country and people, for the good or the bad."

Steve looked a bit surprised, but said nothing.

"Any war in particular? Any topic? Tactics maybe?" The lithe brunette pulled open several drawers from his side of the desk, seemingly at random. Not once did he break contact with Steve's vibrant blue eyes.

"I'm not picky really, though I'd rather something from this century."

"Modern warfare – " Harry cut off at the cringe on Steve's face. Ah, a sore spot, best leave that topic for a later date. "Alright then, past it is." He slid closed several drawers, again, seemingly at random. "Anything else?"

"Firsthand accounts."

"Narrows it down."

"Honest."

"Narrows it down."

"In English."

"Narrows it down."

"North American?"

"Narrows it down."

"Younger author?"

"Narrows it down."

At each suggestion Harry had closed or pulled open another drawer. And each time he had kept his eyes in contact with Steve's.

"Ah... I think I'm out of ideas actually..." During the short but intense brain storm, he had come to be hunched over the counter, his forearms braced on the countertop on either side of the mug cradled before him. He wasn't very far from Harry either, maybe a half foot, slightly more.

Harry seemed to ponder for a moment, nibbling on his lower lip absently. "Well, I think I might have one in mind, off the top of my head; I read it quite some time ago but it left quite the impression. He slipped off his stool. "Right then, feel free to browse while I locate the little bugger; like I said, it's been a while and though I know I have a copy, I can't remember exactly where I've stashed it." He stood for a moment, before the tall stacks of books that covered more than half the width of the sizeable store, and the length of the thirty odd foot length. The ceilings were also abnormally high for a book store, which led Steve to consider that this may have been an art studio at some previous point. The ceiling must have been nearly fifteen feet in height, and the book cases stretched nearly the entire length. And, as he looked around, he noted that there wasn't a ladder of any kind in sight. Harry stood in the same place for high on ten minutes, nibbling his lip and tapping his foot and fingers against his hip in a matching rhythm.

Eventually Steve came back to the counter top and resumed his hunched position, finding that he could stretch his back pleasurably from that position. His long fingers, artist's fingers, absently stroked patterns along the mug's warm surface. The soft, warm fabric of the borrowed sweater strained against the points of his broad shoulders, obviously not having been intended for the strain of such a muscular body. The hem slid of slightly in the back as he stretched and exposed a few inches of skin. His eyes, bright and blue, followed the brunette for a while as he stalked up and down the aisles, mumbling to himself. Once or twice he disappeared down towards the back of the shop in his search for the elusive novel, but eventually returned, still mumbling and twitching his fingers. Steve was content to wait; his time in the military, both while as a figurehead wanting to be more, and more recently as a soldier waiting for an order, had taught him that patience was key in most things: good things came to those who waited. Between Stark and Banner, he had learned what the twitching fingers, restless legs, pacing feet, and incessant mumbling meant, and knew better than to offer help, lest he caused something to somehow explode. It had happened... Once... While there were no dubious electronics or bubbling chemicals, he wasn't one to abandon a time tested method for survival. That's what he told himself as his eyes shifted to watch the movement of Harry's lips or behind. Just being observant, that's all.

And so, the big man watched the little man.

Time passed and neither noticed the storm that had once raged outside having calmed considerably as the day had faded into early evening. Steve's tea had been finished and another pot made; the blonde **had** learned some skills while overseas during the war. Until Harry had made that first pot, he hadn't enjoyed a good in nearly seventy five years, before his mishap in the arctic. Now that he had the chance to think about it, he realized just how much he had anticipated the warm drink as Harry had made it.

"**Ahah!"** And there went a perfectly good cup of warm tea, all over the index card Harry had slammed down onto the countertop. He fumbled for a grip on the still warm ceramic for a moment, nearly smashing it twice, before he got a hold on it. He smiled sheepishly at Harry's grin. Harry was very lucky Steve had not lashed out during his violent start; the fumble for the mug had likely saved him a cracked skull or bruised cheek. Steve's grimace and sour mood at being surprised faded against the brightness of Harry's smile, his eyes were dancing in mirth. Literally.

Steve's blue eyes shifted upwards from the brunette's plump mouth, passing a small, pert nose dusted with faint freckles, to his wide, almond shaped eyes. Where he paused. Right away, staring into them, he could tell there was something more to Harry. Something... More than human... Harry's eyes were green, very green; so green that they were literally a kaleidoscope of colour that shifted back and forth between varying shades of green. Flecks of blue and gold flickered before being swallowed by the shifting swirls. A few times he saw flecks of red, some the colour of dried blood, others a vibrant crimson, that peeked out from around his pupil before they too were swallowed. The shades shifted from an almost neon green to a deep pine, and nearly black.

Steve's appraisal was halted as the corners of Harry's eyes crinkled and his lids lowered. The blonde sat back, only now noticing how very close he had become to the brunette. Harry's face had been scant inches away from his own. Instead of anger or some kind of smarmy comment, Harry merely stood and smiled; waiting patiently. He waited until Steve had righted himself and the flush that had been creeping up the blonde's neck had vanished somewhat, before speaking.

"You're curious."

It wasn't a question.

"Y-yes." Steve scowled inwardly at the stuttered reply, why was he suddenly so nervous? He didn't like this; one moment he was unbelievably comfortable around a man he knew nothing about and was only in the company of on the word of an associate, and the next he was jittery like the first time he had been around a girl he liked. That parallel was quickly dismissed. For all his uncertainty and questions, Steve was having a hard time bringing himself to truly care. "Why... Why do they shift like that?" He paused, considering his next question. "Are you human?" He bit his lip as soon as the words passed his mouth.

'_Good job, idiot. Insult the man who's treated you better in the first hour of meeting you than most people have during your entire life.'_

He prayed to God that he hadn't some irreparable damage.


	4. Chapter 4

Author: Salios

Date: December 13, 2012

Fandom: Harry Potter/Avengers Crossover

Pairing: Harry Potter/Steve Rogers (Cpt. America)

Rating: T-M

Warning: This story will contain male/male relationships, including  
intimacy ranging from light kissing to possible sex. Swearing and descriptions of violence and gore also possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own either fandom or their associated  
characters; this is a fan piece and not written for profit.

Earl Grey and Apple Pie: Chapter 4

* * *

SURPRISE! :D

* * *

Steve scrunched his toes, stiffened his shoulders, and wrung his hands. He'd probably said the absolutely worst and last question he could have come up with. Even as a hero to the masses, he had been faced with that same accusatory question; how else could a twenty-something survive for so long in the ice of the arctic, untouched? He'd been hounded and accosted, threatened and cursed. All by the people whom he had risked his own life to protect, who had, until his de-icing, been proclaimed a saint. He was a good catholic boy himself, so he had vehemently protested being labelled a saint. Though being the devil wasn't much better.

"I suppose that is a fair question." his hands paused in their dry washing. "Though, honestly, I'm not sure how much I'm able to actually tell you." At Steve's confused look he added, "Most of what I can't tell you is information I don't know or understand myself. Some of the little bits I had only concerned myself with in passing, and a few of the larger, more important tidbits I was left out of altogether." Here he shrugged, as though not knowing crucial information was normal for him and didn't bother him at all. He absently mopped up the spilled tea with a cloth plucked from the underside of the counter.

"I think that my... Oddities... Are due in part to a number of near-death experiences and attempted murders that I experienced as a child and into my teens." Again, his face didn't change, not even a twitch. Steve thought for a moment that Harry was joking and that at any moment he would break out in a grin and tell the blonde that his eyes were some new contact lenses he was trying out for a party of some kind. That moment passed and Harry had the same nonchalant expression, though his eyes seemed a bit duller, older. "As far as I know, the first instance was barely a month after my first birthday; a man, who was the head of a violent terrorist cell, had been hunting my parents. Somehow he had caught up with them, though we later learned that this was due to the betrayal of one of their closest friends, and killed them both."

Steve swallowed, watching those vibrant irises darken and lose their healthy glow.

"He'd killed them with – what do you call it - a, laser? Yes, a laser. He shot them both and then made his way to me. It didn't quite work out the way he had planned though." He paused again, tilting his head to side in consideration. "I should elaborate; the laser worked quite well, there was no problem at all with the method he chose to dispatch my family with. The outcome, adversely, was not at all what he had expected. The laser stuck me, just above the point between my eyes," Here he gestured to a much faded scar. "And somehow **rebounded **back upon him. Not expecting this, he had no time to dodge the projectile, and was gravely injured. He literally held onto life by a few strands.

"Moving forward, I faced his people several times in my youth, hence the other near death instances. There was one case where I was bitten by a very rare and poisonous snake. There were a number of myths and rumours circulating around concerning the abilities of the creature. I can attest to the strength of its poison at least. I watched it eat through parchment, leather, and even stone. So when I was bitten and then lived, there was much speculation." He grinned a bit here and gestured to his right arm, where supposedly he had been bitten. "I believe I was hit with that laser at least once more, and you now see the results." Harry focused on Steve, and laughed. It was a sharp bark which startled Steve from his slack-jawed staring.

"You can't be serious."

"Oh I wish I wasn't! Try as I might, and believe me I really have, I've never been any good at being ordinary and boring!"

Steve let out a choked laugh, lips twisted into a wry smile.

"What?"

"Sorry, it's nothing, continue."

Here, Harry prodded his laced fingers atop the table with one calloused fingertip.

"Nope, definitely isn't, so you'd better spill." He grinned at Steve's deepened scowl but didn't let up.

"Alright, fine!" Steve huffed in irritation, swatting at the persistent digit. "I'm the complete opposite of you."

"...Really now...?" One dark brow arched high.

"Really."

"Well then, I would love to hear it." Harry grinned.

"You say you've never been good at boring or normal? I'm your opposite. Until I joined the army, I wasn't extraordinary enough to pick out from a crowd of African Americans." Harry tried to hold back a snort, but didn't do so well as Steve glanced at him with a somewhat frustrated look. He continued his narrative as Harry mimicked locking his mouth and tucking the key into his pocket. "Anyway, I was that tall, scrawny kid who got his as - behind handed to him nearly every day." Harry just about bit into his own hand trying to stifle his laughter. Steve was from another time, and he sometimes let the influence of modern times colour his language. It somehow felt wrong to use such a crass adjective in front of Harry. He pushed his consideration of **why** to the back of his mind. "I was the local punching bag, even when I attended university."

"What did you take?" Harry slapped the hand back over his mouth and flushed. The words had just popped out of his mouth of their own accord, he swore!

Steve gave a little laugh. "Art, I loved to sketch and paint, and I was even trying my hand at sculpting just before I gave that up to join the army." Harry boggled at him for a moment, taking in the broad, muscular shoulders, the thick biceps, sturdy forearms, and the very obviously muscled pectorals that peeked out from the front of the sweater.

_'Scrawny, right. As if this man has even been less than a powerhouse in his entire life! I can see the artist though; those hands seem so sure and careful. I wonder what he could do with - No, No! Bad brain! Bad! Stop working with my damn libido!' _Harry proceeded to mentally punch himself in the general vicinity of his groin in an attempt to knock back his libido's interest.

"I'm being completely honest here, I was an absolute twig before I joined up." Steve spread his hands wide.

"I'm sorry mate, I'm just having trouble imagining... well, imagining **you** as a twig. I have a **very** vivid imagination, and I'm honestly not seeing it." Harry's words were slightly garbled by his chuckles.

Steve scowled. "**Anyway**." Harry coughed, held up a hand to catch his breath, and then nodded for the annoyed blonde man to continue. "Joining the army gave me the chance to be the protector I'd always wanted to be. My dad was in the war, and I wanted to follow his lead." He didn't specify what war; let Harry believe he was talking about some more recent warfare instead of the Great War at the beginning of the twentieth century. "I got the training I had craved, and the body I had always dreamed of having," Harry couldn't help but crave that body himself. '_Ack! Down boy, down!_' The brunette mentally batted that thought away too. "And I became that extraordinary man I'd always wanted to be. I mean, sure, I got a lot of flack before the war. Every attempt I made to join up was met with failure; too skinny, too weak, too sick. I had some health problems, but my enthusiasm should have more than made up for my body's failings."

Harry knew that feeling all too well; beatings and starvation from the Dursley's had left him far underweight and below his originally estimated height and weight. He'd been an emaciated child until after the war when he had finally been able to live on his own.

"And after I had joined and was in the thick of things, people changed from calling me a coward to calling me evil, and a murderer."

Harry definitely knew what those words felt like against an already shaky self-esteem.

"It didn't seem to matter much what I did, because there was always someone to kick me back down and make me doubt my own life." Steve's hands had returned to the table as he hunched over the war mug of tea, which Harry had prepared this time. His long fingers stroked the sides of the mug carefully and softly.

"I know how that can be..." Steve looked up to catch Harry's sorrowful green eyes. "The man who hunted my parents? Like I said, he was head of a terrorist cell. And his near death did nothing to dissuade the vengeful attentions of his **minions**. So, from the age of eleven I was thrown into the middle of a long and bloody civil war, one from before I had even been born. So many good people died, and until recently, I could see the lists of the dead and their faces when I closed my eyes. It's gotten slightly better, I'm slowly moving on from the guilt." Steve's face shifted into an expression of confusion. "Ah, sorry. I was the figurehead of sorts because the rebound of his attack when I was a child had led them to believe I was some kind of saviour." He just about spat the word. "So I was at the forefront of the fighting and eventually ended the old man's psychotic agenda myself." Harry merely shrugged and sipped his own tea absently. While he had left out any specific information, retelling his story was nothing new to him. He finished his tea and set down the mug.

"I should probably get you that book then, eh?" He grinned at the very comfortable, and slightly sleepy looking, Steve. Who only blinked back at him blearily, brain slowly catching up.

"Uh... right! Sorry, lose my train of thought there for a moment."

Harry turned with the index card in one hand and glanced quickly from side to side, orienting himself. He strode back into the store and Steve hurried after him, his mug still full of barely steaming tea. Harry turned into an aisle and looked around, up and down, before releasing another 'ahah!' followed by a soft puff of air and a groan.

"What is it?"

Harry pointed upwards and Steve's neck craned as he followed the digit.

"Top left corner, wedged between those two hardback Encyclopaedias." Harry grumbled the words out, obviously not pleased with his choice of resting spot for the novel. But he was a stubborn man, and he would be damned before he went back on his decision to have Steve enjoy that book.

"Wow..." Steve glanced down and took in Harry's fuming expression. He knew he shouldn't have, but he felt his face split in a grin all the same. The impression he got from the petite brunette's anger was that of a mildly annoyed chipmunk that had absent mindedly stashed its favourite snack in a now very inconvenient place. It had probably seemed like a good idea at the time; foresight being twenty-twenty and all that. The much taller man hastily wiped the grin from his lips as Harry's gaze turned to him.

"Apparently you're in for a treat: I'll have to climb up there to get the bloody thing."

"You're kidding, don't you have a ladder or something?"

"Nope... Not counting the one that's buried in the basement. But as far as I'm concerned I'm safer scaling these shelves than trusting **that** deathtrap." Harry sighed and then grumbled, oblivious for the stifled laughter of the bigger man.

"I'm taller than you, let me get it –." Steve began to offer, only to be cut off by a glaring Harry.

"Not a chance! My store, my job!" He therein grumbled about freakishly tall brutes and something about vegetables.

Steve could only step back with his hands in the air and watch as Harry toed off his sneakers to reveal slim, cute toes.

* * *

Sidenote that I forgot in the last chapter! :D I did in fact forget that ladder from the first chapter (oops). That will be addressed in the following chapter. I realized there were a few mistakes in spacing and I've gone back to fix those. Apparently moving from Google Drive to Word isn't as easy as I thought…According t the ff net word counter, i'm missing something like 500 words in the transition... QQ

Sorry for the long wait folks, aside from a lack of motivation to type any of this (I've been slowly writing the chapter in a notebook between class and two jobs), other things got in the way.

→ i.e. the snuggly Steve Rogers-esque boyfriend I'm now sporting. Here's hoping I won't need to come back and edit this part out; he's too awesome to let go!

Random props to **ashrk95** for being the first to review Chapter 3! That first review is something I look forward to with each new chapter posted. I always hope to read some suggestions or questions. I'll continue this habit of calling out first reviewers with each chapter, and maybe even reply to a few if you have questions I can answer. Feel free to message me! Chapter 5 is already written out! :D


	5. Chapter 5

Author: Salios

Fandom: Harry Potter/Avengers Crossover

Pairing: Harry Potter/Steve Rogers (Cpt. America)

Rating: T-M

Warning: This story will contain male/male relationships, including intimacy ranging from light kissing to possible sex. Swearing, and descriptions of violence and gore also possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own either fandom or their associated characters; this is a fan piece and not written for profit.

Earl Grey and Apple Pie

Chapter 5

* * *

_'Oh sweet baby Jesus. That man's toes are absolutely adorable.'_ That really was the thought that flashed across Steve's brain matter as he stared down at the delicate digits, curling and uncurling against the chilly wood flooring. Like any other person, he had his unspoken interests. Something about a set of itty-bitty, delicate toes just made him want to snuggle the attached human like a kitten to their favourite stuffie. Really. He watched Harry unzip the sweater and pull it from his shoulders, and before the brunette could toss it to the ground behind him, he took it from those smaller hands with a mumbled, "I'll hold it." The fabric clasped between his fingers was still warm and he caught himself gently squeezing and stroking the red cotton exterior and cream wool interior. He had the sudden urge to lift the garment to his face in order to have a whiff of his smell, but held off. That would be both creepy, and far too into the realm of 'Gay' for even he to deny.

"Are you sure you don't want my help? I could even take a different novel." He was flattered that Harry was going to do something possibly stupid just to find him a book, but he still didn't want the shorter man to get hurt.

"Nope! I've made my decision already and I'm too stubborn to give up now." He said this as he rolled his shoulders, flexed his arms, and cracked his knuckles. The vintage green shirt he wore was tight enough to give a glimpse of the leanly muscled body beneath. The fairly low-riding jeans didn't do much to draw Steve back from the precipice of the dreaded 'Gay Zone' as they hung precariously on slim hips. Steve attempted clear his thoughts with a shake of his head and paused.

'Wait… Wasn't he on a ladder when I came in…?' He narrowed his eyes in consideration. 'Yes… Yes he was…. So where is it now….?' He distracted Harry by asking for a fresh cup of tea, obviously stalling, and moved back towards the front of the store, checking the aisles as he went. Harry had only been five aisles back when he'd entered, at most. But there was no sign of the elusive ladder. He'd initially thought the brunette was simply forgetful and a little unwilling to admit that he'd forgotten about something as important as a ladder. But even with some searching, Steve hadn't been able to find the elusive wooden contraption. Had Harry scaled the shelves then as well? The blonde's head was spinning as he retreated back to the counter and the waiting cup of hot tea.

What the poor man didn't know, of course, was that Harry had indeed been using a ladder when stocking the shelves earlier. It had been transfigured from a piece of string that he kept in his pocket, and then reverted to its original state upon the arrival of Steve. Having grown up with an obsessive-compulsive neat-freak like his Aunt Petunia, he couldn't stand clutter. Harry wasn't used to working this closely with a customer, or having one this curious; otherwise he would have simply summoned the book or transfigured himself another ladder. He didn't much enjoy the idea of a muggle noticing a spot of magic. He may not be under the thumb of the British Ministry any longer, but that didn't mean he was keen on sharing what he could do. Moody had made sure he was too paranoid to chance being uncovered. Thusly, he readied himself for the possible humiliation of falling on his head from a bookshelf in his own shop.

Lovely...

He rubbed both forearms, one at a time, and cracked the knuckles on each hand. He rotated his ankles while evaluating his route. He wasn't afraid of heights; he would have made a poor Quidditch player had they bothered him, but he really didn't enjoy the thought of greeting the floor with his face. He was also very un-eager for another dose of Skele-grow.

Steve stood from the counter, sipping his tea. "You aren't really going to climb that, are you?"

The shelf Harry was eyeing stood about twelve feet high against a nearly fourteen foot ceiling. Due to the age of the building and the... eccentricities... of the previous owners, the ceiling of the shop was high and vaulted. As far as Harry knew, the place had been used as some kind of art gallery beforehand, which would explain the open height of the shelves, compared against Harry's whopping five foot seven inches, was almost comical. And maybe a little bit worrying. So much so, that Steve gulped down the rest of his tea, grimacing at the bitter dregs, placed the cup back onto the counter, and stepped up behind the brunette.

"Yep, I'm not afraid of heights. Besides, I don't much feel like spending a day or more digging through my basement to find a ladder of dubious condition." He turned on the ball of one foot to come eye level with the blonde's impressive pectorals.

Harry may have squeaked. May have. If confronted he would never admit it, but the possibility was there. Regardless, he sincerely hoped that Steve had not heard the non-existent noise. Steve did, but the only acknowledgement he gave of the brunette's reaction was a slight widening of his smile. The zipper of the sweater, white and glossy, was only done up mid way, just above the sternum. The gap gave Harry an intense close-up of the pale, creamy flesh smattered with nearly transparent blonde hairs. The Brit's cheeks warmed and he forced his eyes from the glimpse of taut muscle. As he met Steve's amused eyes, he tried his damndest to control the hot flush across his nose.

"Would you prefer if I retrieved the book?" The offer was soft and slightly tinged with mirth. Harry's eyes had dropped to Steve's mouth as the blonde's pale pink lips parted.

"Uhh... Well..." Harry swallowed thickly again tore his gaze away. "No, no. Thank you for the offer, but it wouldn't be right of me to force you to do my job."

"You wouldn't be forcing me; I did just offer." Here he paused slightly, as if considering his next comment. "I am, after all, a fair bit taller than you. I could reach better." He knew almost immediately that had been the wrong thing to say as the brunette's shoulder tensed and his spine straightened rigidly. Steve swore he could actually see Harry's hair bristle indignantly. "Wait, wait, that came out wrong, I meant - " He sputtered and flushed only to have Harry cut him off as a huff of warm air tickled the bare skin of his exposed chest, the flesh spurned into a fit of goose pimples. The petite brunette turned again on one foot and stroke between the stacks.

Obviously, Harry's lack of height was a sore spot. His embarrassed anger gave him speed and he began scaling the shelves. The book was on the very top shelf, against the outer wall above where Steve stood watching. It was also wedged tightly between two old, hardback, military encyclopedias from the early nineteenth century. Many of the larger books, as in the past there was no uniform size for works of literature and thus giving way to many awkwardly sized and shaped works, hung over the lip of the shelf. He had to carefully place his hands and feet lest he dislodge a book and have to scramble for purchase. He still wasn't keen on falling, anger or no. As he reached the height of his goal, Harry scowled; the book in question, aside from being at the far end of where he hung, was part of a shelf devoted to the larger and more ungainly tomes. Thus, there was no place for him to put his hands or feet that would be easy or safe.

And so, he again did something stupid: he reached.

Just as his fingertips wiggled the book from its resting place, squashed more thoroughly by the two encyclopedias than he had expected, the foot holding the majority of his weight lost its grip. With a startled yelp and no small amount of flailing, Harry plummeted from the top of the shelf. Luckily for him there was a broad and sturdy body below him to break his fall. Steve, having thought ahead as he was used to similarly stupid plans from Stark, had positioned himself where he expected the brunette to fall if he actually did. Only he hadn't expected the petite looking man to weigh as much as he did, which threw the blonde forward as Harry landed in his arms. Steve grunted and stumbled before landing flat on his behind with Harry pressed against his chest. To add insult to injury, the two encyclopedias promptly thumped the smaller man on the crown of his head, one after the other. Steve was treated to a number of creative and slightly hissed curses and endured the points of several slim fingers as they flexed instinctively into the flesh of his chest.

They sat for a moment and caught their breath before Harry groaned and sat back. He was kneeling between Steve's spread legs with most of his weight still against the blonde's chest. One hand remained where it was as he pushed himself back, the other coming up to touch the crown of his abused skull hesitantly. Steve bit back a breathy laugh and caught the hand.

"Hold on there, let me take a look." His pitched his voice low and soft, hoping to appeal to Harry's common sense instead of pride, still regretting his poor choice of words. Even if they had been the cause for having the smaller, lighter man in his lap now.

Harry merely grunted and let his head be drawn forward to rest against Steve's chest while the blonde inspected his abused skull. Nimble hands parted the slightly damn hair, 'Those books broke the skin then, that must have hurt,' and surveyed the damage. The injury was small, merely a small split in the skin that looked to be quickly scabbing. Steve realized the brunette was healing a bit too fast, but knew he wasn't one to judge. If Harry had secrets he wished to keep, as his obviously abridged history broadcasted, Steve would not be the one to force him to share them. He parted more hair to make sure there were no more wounds, ignoring the droplets of blood that were staining his fingertips. After a moment he hummed and wiped his fingers on the hem of the sweater without thinking and adjusted the brunette so that he was sitting upright instead of resting comfortably against Steve.

"A few cuts, but nothing you'll die from, I promise." Steve grinned at Harry and shuffled awkwardly to his feet, pulling the brunette up after himself. He stepped around Harry and plucked the three offending pieces of literature from the ground, noting the slightly crumpled corner on the thicker tome and wincing. He pointedly ignored the jerk of Harry's head turning away from him, or the slight flush that painted his cheeks. To acknowledge the flutter Harry's actions caused would be another step into that feared Zone. He placed the two large books on the counter and turned to Harry with the much thinner volume.

"I hope this is the right one." He smiled and held out the slim book.

Harry took it with a small scowl and a petulant protrusion of the tip of a very pink tongue. He hopped back onto his stool and pulled open a ledger from the drawer beside him. He made a few notations in small chicken-scratch and then handed the book back to Steve. The soldier looked down at the barely worn book and smiled, the cover of "The Wars" by Timothy Findley staring back up at him.

"It's a first person narrative about the Great War." Harry's soft voice pulled Steve from inspecting the cover and he looked up to meet vibrant green eyes. "It's...hard to read in places." Steve frowned slightly. "He goes into such detail about all the close-calls and the deaths around him; it can be a bit much to read all at once. I suggest you read this one slowly and enjoy the emotion he put into the writing; it was his life after all." Harry smiled sadly, looking like his mind was elsewhere.

"I'll be sure to, now how much do I owe you?"

They bartered quickly over the price; Harry wanting to sell it to him for next to nothing and Steve wanting to make sure that Harry got what he was really due. Afterwards they sat and sipped another cup of tea, neither man quite willing to leave the other just yet. It wasn't until Steve glanced outside and noticed, among the darkening sky and lack of rain, a large black SUV parked across the street. He sighed and stood, regretfully finishing his tea in another gulp.

"Sorry to cut this short, Harry." He ignored the slight cough the brunette made at his own name, and made to unzip the sweater.

"No no, you keep that on!" Steve blinked, no one had ordered his clothes to stay on before. "Ack! What I mean to say is that it's yours now, you can have it." Steve raised his eyebrows at that. "Look, it fits you quite well, whereas on me It's almost like a child wearing a parent's dress or robe. And besides... It looks nice on you." Steve smiled at that, and left the slightly lowered zipper where it was.

"Alright then, but you should probably not make it a habit to give out warm and comfortable sweaters to every customer; I might become jealous." 'Dear God, where did that come from? Did I really just say that!?' Harry sputtered something and stood to let the blonde out, collecting his now dry clothes and passing them over in a bundle of warm fabric.

"Read that and let me know how you find it, that way I can keep an eye out for more of the same."

Steve promised he would and stepped out the door. The SUV had moved down the street to his left and that's where he headed, waving a goodbye to the slim brunette. Once out of sight he climbed into the back seat and sank into the surprisingly comfortable cushions beside Coulson. Phil grinned at him.

"Well? Was I right?" Steve rolled his eyes and barely held in a grin. He and Phil had become friends once the shorter agent had gotten over his hero worship, and had been the one to recommend Harry's store to him. Steve merely passed over the novel and was quickly drawn into a discussion on late twentieth century literature versus the modern twenty-first works. Before long they parted ways in Stark Tower, Phil getting off at a different floor to visit Director Fury while Steve continued on to his apartment. As the only Avenger without any other property to speak of, Thor having taken up residence in New Mexico, Banner living in the country, and Hawkeye and Black Widow housed by S.H.I.E.L.D., the blonde found himself with an entire floor of Stark Tower outfitted to his tastes. As the building had been designed and built by Stark, there was more technology than he was comfortable with, most of it being far beyond his understanding. There were moments where he felt like a fish out of water but they were coming less and less often. His furniture was a mix of soft fabrics and buttery leather done in varying shades of red and cream. The appliances were basic, or as close to basic as he could get, and he all but ignored the high-end laptop in the far corner of the room. He slipped into the apartment and closed the door gently behind him; sometimes he had to remind himself that he possessed super-strength, even with his gentle nature.

He tossed the now folded clothing, still smelling faintly of wood smoke and tea, onto the leather couch and stretched. He held the fingers of one hand and stretched his arms high above his head, hearing numerous vertebrae pop and sighed at the release of pressure. He shivered slightly at the brush of cool air against his now bare stomach and abdomen. Steve swung his arms to stretch the muscles and just as his fingers began to pull at the white zipper tongue for the second time that day, a knock from the door stopped him. The blonde groaned softly and strode to the door, all thoughts of relaxing now gone. He grasped the handle, twisted, and pulled the wooden door open. Phil Coulson and Maria Hill stood on the other side, one wearing a warm smile, the other stony-faced.

"Hello again Steve, Fury wants to see you in his office." Phil looked slightly apologetic. Steve merely sighed and made to step out into the hall, only to be stopped by Hill.

"You don't intend to meet with the director wearing... that..." She turned up her nose at the blue sweater he wore, eyes roaming the soft-looking cotton.

"I had, but since you obviously don't approve..." He stepped back in and grabbed his short and windbreaker, intending to move into his bedroom to change.

"No time for that, you can change on the way." Hill snapped at him and held the door open.

Even Phil eyed her incredulously, but Steve knew better than to argue with the woman, whom he had learned a number of unsavoury name for during his employment under S.H.I.E.L.D., and stepped back into the hall with an armful of clothing. They were on their way even before the door clicked shut behind his heels. Steve attempted to strip out of the blue sweater quickly to avoid notice, though he still caught appreciative glances from more than one person on the way. He didn't quite know what to do with the sweater in his arms until it was pulled from his fingers by Hill. She held it at arms length as though it were diseased and muttered something unlikely to be a compliment. Slightly louder she said,

"I'll give this to the cleaners and you'll have it back before the night is over." And then she was walking off in another direction at a split in the hallway. Steve merely shrugged, for what else could he do, and hoped he really would get the sweater back, he'd grown attached. He followed Phil to Fury's office and sat through another boring discussion about politics and training regimes, ignorant to the way Fury cast glances between the blonde's hands and his computer monitor constantly.

* * *

(An hour earlier.)

Maria Hill perched comfortably in the chair before Fury's desk, watching the man think at the window. She was Fury's right hand, and took great pride in the position. The director was standing at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back and feet planted shoulder-width apart. He looked for all the world to be relaxed and thoughtful, though she knew better. His fingers twitched and occasionally tightened, his jaw set and pulling at the scars that would be peeking out just slightly from his eye patch. Something was on his mind, and soon enough she would know what.

As though knowing his thoughts, he turned and sat back into his chair, watching her over steepled fingers. She sat straighter and met his eye. He seemed to consider something for a moment before reaching into the desk and pulling out a leather folder, embroidered in gold, bronze, silver, and black thread. Without a word, he slid it across the desk for her to take and she did just that, opening it and glancing inside without a word. She swore Fury actually let out a chuckle at her wide eyes and hanging jaw.  
She looked up at him and said the only thing she could think of,

"You've got to be fucking with me."

Fury only laughed harder.

* * *

Sorry for the delay folks, life decided I need a chunk taken out of my ass. Anyone who's weaned themselves off of Wellbutrin will know what I mean. This is actually going somewhere, I'm just terrible at filler. Suggestions would be welcome, and as asked by one reader in the last chapter (Submarine Highway), this is not a non-magical AU, Harry's just giving a very abridged version of his history for the little muggle's benefit.

Also, isn't it fun when you write something out, and when you go to type it from memory you somehow manage to cut out a massive part of what you've already planned? Yep, biggest issue with the sequence of events for this chapter.

Cheers!

Also, you can find me on AO3 under the name Salios


	6. Chapter 6

Author: Salios Fandom: Harry Potter/Avengers Crossover Pairing: Harry Potter/Steve Rogers (Cpt. America) Rating: T-M Warning: This story will contain male/male relationships, including intimacy ranging from light kissing to possible sex. Swearing, and descriptions of violence and gore also possible. Disclaimer: I do not own either fandom or their associated characters; this is a fan piece and not written for profit. Earl Grey and Apple Pie. Chapter 6

(I had lots of free time today, and felt like making up for the lack of updates these past few weeks)

Chapter Text

Maria Hill was having a difficult time believing what was before her in the folder. She gripped the leather and reassured herself that it was indeed real, judging by the slight give and the scratch of the embroidery. The paper within was an old style parchment, fading slightly in places while looking freshly made in others. There were more pages in the folder than could have possibly fit, but they were there. It looked like just about every legal document she had seen over the years, even the ones she had penned herself. The format was slightly different, but the overall structure and writing style were the same bluntly worded yet somehow mysterious lines of text she had grown to expect from the government. She drew her eyes back up to the top of the first page and read it again, just to clarify.

**01 January 1999**

**From the desk of the esteemed Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour**  
**For the eyes of assigned Aurors, Allies, and Hit-Wizards only.**

**Ladies and gentlemen,**

**I am sorry to announce that today is a turning point for our community; our greatest asset has become our greatest danger,** the next few words were beyond recognizable,** has turned his back upon us. Though he fought the darkness when under the direction of our fair Government, he has succumbed to its poisoned promises. Likely this began with his mentor, **a word here was blurry to the point of pain as she tried to read it,** died in service to our great nation and the infection grew as the years passed. Our saviour has now defected, and I regretfully ask you to take it upon yourselves to bring him to justice.**

**He had been charged with the crimes of:**  
**- Treason**  
** Including:**  
** - Plotting to overthrow the Government**  
** - Selling of Government secrets**  
** - Absconding with Government property**  
** - Destruction of Government property**  
**- Adultry**  
**- Robbery**  
**- Murder**  
**- Torture of innocents**  
**- Use of Dark magic**  
**- Association with known terrorists**  
**- Association with persona non grata (several names were scribbled below this point, though she couldn't make out any of them)**

The list continued on for another few pages with similar charges, and even some repeats, before the original message was continued.

**This boy,** she was sceptical of the use of the word, _'Is he really a boy, are they just demeaning him?'_,** has become unstable and a threat to society as a whole, maybe even the world. I task you with hunting down and re-acquiring him, preferably alive. We will do what we can to recondition him for the use of the Good, and be rest assured that regardless of the outcome, he will no longer be a danger to the good citizens of Great Britain.**

**Your ever faithful Minister of Magic,**  
**Rufus Scrimgeour**

The rest of the pages were notes on the boy's appearance, notable allies, and sightings. At the very back she found a photo that made her mouth purse tightly and her hands clench on the folder. The boy, for that's exactly what he was, appeared to be less than skin and bones; his eyes were dark and sunken, skin papery and deathly pale. The points of his cheekbones and jaw were sharp and jutted out against the pale skin. His dark, dark like a raven's wing, hung in shaggy clumps about his head, unwashed and untended. What tugged most at her heart were his eyes; great round orbs made of the brightest green she had ever seen. The colour was startling against his pale and gaunt features, but were no less dull and lifeless. Hill jumped as the picture shifted, literally, and she book turned from looking out of the frame and at her, just for a moment, before going distant again on some far off point.

Hill couldn't look at the photo any longer and shut the folder, passing the whole mess back to Fury, who watched her with one dark eye. He took the folder and opened it himself to some page in the back. He pulled out another photo and handed it to her; this one more recent and likely taken by one of their operatives. It showed a slim young man, maybe in his early twenties, sitting in an oversized armchair cross legged, a book open in his lap. He was nibbling on his lower lips unconsciously while his left hand touched the back of his right gently, as though he were touching a recent wound. His hair was cut short along his neck and slightly longer at the back, falling in shaggy waves from his crown across his brow. His nose was slim and faintly pointed, falling into the category of cute more easily than handsome. His skin was faintly tanned, an olive tone that spoke of European descent with a smattering of light freckles across the nose. He wore a black vest and emerald dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows, a black tie tucked into the front of his vest and loose around his throat. Small white lines, stark against his tan, peeked out from the collar of the shirt and Hill had to wonder what exactly they stemmed from.

She accepted another photo from Fury and found herself looking back at the haunted boy, his eyes still shifting and dull, a mockery of what a healthy child should have looked like. She held the two photos together and glanced back and forth, Fury wouldn't have given her both if it wasn't for comparison. There were similarities between them in the face, most noticeably in the pert nose, shaggy hair, and vibrantly coloured eyes. She glanced back at the child, specifically at his neck, and found the same lines, though a dark ruby through the smear of dirt that seemed to coat him. They were fresh and raw, and likely infected judging by the redness of the skin around them and the swell of the wounds themselves. She traced the injury up his throat to just under his jaw and across his collarbone, dipping into the grimy, threadbare shirt that barely covered him. She glanced between the two photos again before handing them back, Fury taking them carefully and gently tucking them back into their respective places within the folder. He took his time and let her mind work.

_'Aside from a few minor differences, they look almost the same. If that capture order, because really, what else could it be, was really released in 1999... Judging by his face he couldn't have even been twenty then, and the more recent photo makes him out to be in his early twenties...'_ She did some quick math in her head and scowled._ 'There is no way that man could be in his thirties, not with a face and body like that. But the math can't be wrong...'_She searched her memory for any conflicted around the time of the letter's release and could only remember a small handful, only one of which in Great Britain. S.H.I.E.L.D. Hadn't participated in the conflict as it had been relatively small, though there had been small disturbances for years both before and after the major fighting. Due to a lack of serious casualties or fighting they had chalked it up to some kind of minor dispute between the nations of the United Kingdom and left them to it. But now, with Fury's interest in this particular folder, and the reappearance of this unnamed boy, she was beginning to wonder.

The order had used the terms 'magic' and 'wizards', not a variety of adjectives that were ever used in official documents. Add in Fury's penetrating gaze, watching for her reaction, and the seemingly agelessness of the man in question, she found the impossible becoming possible. She met the Director's eyes and let the corner of her mouth life, adrenaline beginning to pump through her body at the chase unfolding before her.

"What do you want me to do?"

Half an hour later she found herself waiting in the lobby of Stark Tower, watching the crowd for one Steve Rogers, A.K.A. Captain America. According to the Director, he had been in direct contact with the target, the sweater he was currently wearing having belonged to the slim, dark-haired man. She was tasked with distracting Rogers and acquiring the sweater for testing. Fury had yet to tell her the man's name, giving her a smirk that said he expected her to learn that information on her own. She spotted Rogers, who towered over many of the agents, by his broad build and fair head of hair. He was accompanied by Agent Coulson, the two men chatting amicably as they moved through the foyer and to the elevators. She waited a moment and then followed, knowing that Coulson would be heading up to report to the Director. Within moments she intercepted him in the hall outside the elevators.

"Agent Coulson," He stopped his steady walk and turned around to face her. "The Director would like to meet with you and Captain Rogers in his office. She didn't bat an eye as Coulson blinked, slightly surprised he was only hearing this now. "If you wouldn't mind, I had planned to escort you to fill you in on the details." He looked slightly uneasy but nodded and they entered the elevator again, standing at a polite distance from each other. The walk to Rogers' apartment was quick, if slightly sterile in conversation.

Coulson knocked on the wooden door and soon enough Rogers answered, holding the door open with a look of barely restrained annoyance. He smiled amicably at Coulson and simply nodded at her; there was no love lost between she and Rogers. He was easily convinced to join them on their way to Fury's office, though twice she almost missed the chance to acquire the sweater as Fury had ordered. She was left with embarrassing the Captain, forcing him to partially undress as they walked and entered the elevator, which was now occupied with other employees of Stark and agents. She ignored the slight flush to his face as he hurriedly pulled on his white shirt and thin jacket. Just as they exited the elevator she saw her chance in an offshoot of the hallway and snatched the still-warm sweater from Rogers' hands, holding it at a distance, who knew what the target was capable of doing, or what residual effects he could have left on the blue fabric.

Now to take it to the lab.

The trip to the labs was quick and she found Doctor Banner working alone on some contraption or another. Fury had been upfront about the need to keep this quiet; there weren't too many S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists at Stark Tower. He had advised her to say nothing about the source of the blue sweater, but to entrust it to Banner with an order to perform a full analysis on the sweater and whatever he could find. With as little damage done to the piece of clothing as possible.

Banner eyed her from his table and she eyed him back. She couldn't get past the idea that this mousy-looking, if tall scientist could become a giant green monster. She had made it a point to avoid the doctor if at all possible after the Tesseract incident. After a moment of eyeing each other, she stepped forward and dropped the sweater onto a free portion of the table, ignoring the doctor's scowl.

"Director Fury would like you to run a full analysis on this, documenting any and all particles you can find. He would also prefer if you kept this to yourself." He frowned, looking the bundle of blue cotton over. "This also takes priority to whatever it is you're currently working on." She barely stayed long enough to see his frown deepen before turning and striding out of the lab and away from the potential explosion of green flesh and giant fists.

Bruce banner looked from his handful of intricate mathematical notes to the bundle of soft looking cotton that was disrupting his day. He sighed after a moment and gently put aside his notes and pulled the bunde closer. Almost immediately upon touching the fabric he felt the Other Guy stir.

He clenched his jaw and prepared to hold back the transformation - only to be met with a sense of calm and security instead of the bubbling mass of rage he had expected. Bruce blinked and looked at the fabric with a new sense of curiosity. He released it from his fingers and felt the calm recede, replaced by the now commonplace thrum of anger. He did this several more times, eyes continually widening as the sensation repeated itself with each touch. He felt different parts of the sweater, all with the same relaxing results.

There were several small, dark hairs tucked into the weave of the cotton at the front, by the zipper. On the left side of the hem of the sweater were a few dashes of a dark substance, most definitely blood. Touching the dark stain had the Other Guy roiling under his skin, and he coughed at the feeling, watching muscle swell slightly under the flesh of his hand, a green tinge to the skin. Somehow, the blood of whoever this was made the anger inside him bubble to rage, but not like he had expected to feel. Rather than being enraged by the owner of the blood he was enraged by the presence of the blood, at the injury caused to obtain it, and he didn't understand why.

His irritation at being interrupted a thing of the past, Bruce went about his analysis with gusto.

Steve, having just returned to his apartment after a short but frustrating meeting with Fury, pulled the jacket from his shoulders and flung it back onto the couch in a pile. He'd made sure to clarify with the Director that there would be no more interruptions for the day before he'd left the office. Fury had sent him away with a small smirk that made the blonde uneasy. A man that devious had no right to use such an expression, and certainly not on his employees. As he strode past the couch towards the kitchen he bent to the side and snatched the slightly worn book from the couch cushions. It was a slim thing, and looked unassuming in his large hands. He deposited it on the bar top across from the kitchen counter and set about making a pot of tea, apparently still craving the slightly bitter liquid, even after several batches of the stuff.

Steve huffed after a moment of staring at the slowly boiling kettle, he still preferred the type that heated from the oven top, his mother's saying of, 'a watched kettle never boils' repeating in his head. He turned and passed the couch and living room, heading through the door into his bedroom and to a small cabinet and chair set beside the french door leading out onto a balcony. The room was still bathed in the warm light of early evening and he had no need for the florescent lights to find what he was looking for. He pulled out a moleskin book and a case of pencils before shutting the cabinet and returning to the kitchen. The kettle was still not boiled.

The blonde pulled out one of the high bar stools and slid onto it, tucking his knees under the countertop and opening the book. He flipped through the first few pages, filled with unfinished sketches of his team. They were candid shots he had done during meetings and down-time to keep his hands busy. He found a fresh page and creased the spine of the book, fingertips fluttering over the slightly rough page in thought. He prefered the less refined type of paper that still had small imperfections and character over the super-smooth, nearly plastic pages that were favoured by many. After a few moments of staring at the blank page of the eight and a half by eleven inch sketchbook, he left his seat to attend to the whistling kettle. He returned to the book after pouring the steaming water but did not sit. He leaned over the book on his forearms, back stretched out and fingers caressing the edges of the paper gently.

There were a few thoughts floating around his skull, but he wasn't sure which would fit best onto the page at that moment. He took several more moments to eye the page, turning the book this way and that with the press of a large finger. He left it once again to pour his now strong tea and sweeten it to his liking. It cooled just enough to drink as he added the milk and he sipped the liquid.

_'It's strong enough, and the same amount of milk and sugar, but it just doesn't taste as good as Harry's...'_Steve frowned but drank the tea anyway. And then the idea he desperately needed to sketch came to him. He set down the cup and snatched up a pencil, the lead of this one harder than the rest. He set to sketching, resuming the relaxed stretched position he had acquired both at home and at Harry's.

Several hours passed, though the time may have been made longer by the consumption of many cups of tea. Steve was still hunched over the book, though his weight had shifted onto one foot while the other curled around his left calf. The sketch had gained form and depth from its previous composition of ovals and sharp lines. Two mischievous eyes peeked out at him from a pair of hands clasped around a pale mug of tea, tendrils of steam curling up and over one iris. The eyes were slightly crinkled in mirth and the pert nose was scrunched up delight. The fringe of black hair brushed one slim eyebrow, each strand deftly defined by strokes of Steve's pencil. He'd highlighted the small freckles that dotted the bridge of the scrunched nose and the barely there scar that sat off center just above and between the dark brows. He had remembered the feel of slightly calloused hands and the small scars that he had glimpsed from the edge of the sweater. One had looked like words, gracing the back of the right hand and running down from the first knuckle of the index finger.

Steve sat back for the first time in a long while and simply looked.

Harry looked back at him from the page, smiling that little mischievous smile that had made his heart skip and his body flush with heat. The sketch was unfinished, with only the beginnings of the brunette's forearms outlined on the page. He'd tried to capture the kaleidoscope of shades that he'd seen passing through the smaller man's eyes as they'd talked, even in graphite.

There wasn't much more he could do to improve upon the sketch, not without fleshing out the other man with colour. Feeling the tension seep out of his shoulders, Steve smiled and without thinking stroked the tips of his fingers across the other man's temple. He did his damndest to simply enjoy the feeling and ignore the feeling of taboo.

Towards the end of the war Harry, Hermione, and Ron had changed their tactics from purely magical combat to a mixture of physical and magical skills. The first they had invested time in had been martial arts. They took courses where they could on their travels, often staying places close to dojos so they could pick up training whenever possible. Hermione had been quick with the disarming of an opponent and retreat, Ron taking the role of brute-strength and dealing out vicious damage with his larger frame. Harry, who had always been the midpoint between his two friends, had chosen a mixture of speed and strength. Through the meditation and daily kata practice he had realized that his magical core was much more than he'd always been taught. his core encompassed the whole of his body, not just some small point in his chest. His core was also massive, holding an untapped well of power that seeped through its casing, his body, and into the air around him. Hermione theorized that the sheer size and openness of his core had to do with Voldemort's attacks as he'd aged. With each magical attack or torture upon his growing body, his core had shifted to accommodate the influx of power. Eventually it had settled, but not before growing to nearly three times its original size. The result was that Harry's core, and therefore body, was continuously drawing in magical energy from everything around him. Nothing large or damaging to any of the creatures or places he drew from, but enough that the well of his core was always overflowing, cycling through the new power and seeping the old off in invisible waves from his body.

It had taken him years after the war to adjust to this, and eventually he'd been able to live and work around muggle technology without shorting everything out. Though when he became angry the runoff from his core became damaging to electronics once more. It had come in handy several times. While their learned skills had mostly been useful in escaping harm more than dealing it out, during the war, Harry had kept up with his training wherever he found himself. He liked being able to play with a larger adversary, ducking and rolling out of harms' way without so much as a wasted breath. But he liked the feeling of raw power that his extended core gave him, filling his limbs with strength; he had kicked out the kneecap of a half troll once, which he hadn't expected to manage. He'd only been aiming to distract his enemy, and had instead incapacitated him.

His shotokan session that evening had left him with several deliciously stretched muscles and a number of dark bruises, none of which he was particularly upset about. The one of his jaw though, he could have done without. The master had hit the brunette as hard as he could, actually managing to knock Harry aside in a crumpled heap. Harry didn't like losing, but he'd laughed, and winced, and given the master of the dojo a firm slap on the back that had nearly sent the man sprawling. He healed quickly, but knew that the bruise was more than just some internal bleeding. The master had actually fractured his jaw, snapping the bone in several small pieces in that last hit. He wouldn't tell the other man though, Harry had deserved the hit, what with all the teasing he'd done. He touched it with his hand, hissed, and licked his lips.

Harry tugged slightly at the collar of his black lululemon shirt, the neck coming up to nearly the back of his head and around his jaw, stretching the fabric slightly. He tugged off the long sleeved shirt and tossed it aside and into a waiting clothes bin. His loose pants followed and after that his socks and underwear, leaving the brunette bare. Except for the numerous scars the cross-crossed his slim body. The war had not been kind, and he'd taken wounds meant for many others, usually voluntarily. Words, some in runic or latin, some even in parseltongue, littered his flesh beside old slashes and stab wounds. Burns decorated his back, great intricate things that wrapped around the peaks of his shoulders like great swathes of molten gold. Those he had acquired during his trials after the war. They were ceremonial and would glow like the first rays of sunlight over a still sea when he poured enough pure magic through his body. There had been a tribe of magicians deep in the Bermuda triangle that had accepted him to their training. Their chief had taught him how to better control his own magic, and what his core drew in and cannibalised. Given the reclusiveness of the island, the tribes-people had never used wands, instead using their own bodies as channels for their raw talent.

The shoulder caps were one of the few marks upon his body that he wasn't ashamed of, and when he went without a cover, which was rare, he wore the marks with pride. Harry strode to the washroom, flicking one hand and closing the blinds ahead of him with a wandless spell he'd learned early on. It didn't take long for the water to heat and soon he was enjoying a hot shower, letting the patter of water smooth the stress from his overused muscles. He turned his head to the side and let the water cascade down the side of his head, flattening his ever unruly hair to his skull. After a few moments of relaxation he began to scrub furiously at his skin and hair. He liked a good workout as much as anyone, but the stiffness left over from sweat drying on his skin he could do without. He washed his hair and rinsed it out, flipping the wet strands back and out of his face. Nimble hands moved over the familiar planes of his own body and soon enough stopped between his legs.

Harry nibbled his lip and considered whether or not to proceed. It wouldn't do for him to think too far into Steve's gentle words and soft touches from earlier. Or the way his very warm, very broad, and very solid body had held the brunette after his rather embarrassing tumble from the bookshelf. Or how he'd smelled like some kind of smooth cream, soft soap, and sharp spice. Harry drew in a quick breath.

"Oh hell, like the decision was really in my hands in the first place." He grinned and reached down.


	7. Chapter 7

Salios Fandom: Harry Potter/Avengers Crossover Pairing: Harry Potter/Steve Rogers (Cpt. America) Rating: T-M Warning: This story will contain male/male relationships, including intimacy ranging from light kissing to possible sex. Swearing, and descriptions of violence and gore also possible. Disclaimer: I do not own either fandom or their associated characters; this is a fan piece and not written for profit. Earl Grey and Apple Pie. Chapter 7 **I haven't said as much before, I don't think, but if anyone feels like crafting anything in the way of fanart, I would be beyond thrilled to see/read/watch/hear it! **

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Harry groaned and pressed his flushed face against the cool tile of the shower wall. That had been just what he'd needed. He took a moment for the bones in his legs to metaphorically solidify again and straightened, rinsing off with the help from a loofah and a bottle from the stand in the corner. Once done he turned off the water and stepped out onto a plush mat, letting his toes sink in and curl between the fluffs on softness around them. He wasn't entirely sure what this mat was made out of, but at least something was having sex with him, though only his feet got  
to enjoy. (1)

He strode out of the washroom naked and not caring at all. The tepid air drew gooseflesh on his arms but dried his skin quickly. He grabbed a pair of low-slung trousers from the foot of his bed and quickly stepped into the soft fabric, sighing in contentment. It was still early for him, not quite midnight, but he wasn't tired enough to sleep, even with the beating he'd inadvertently invited upon himself that evening. With a lack of anything he really felt like, he snatched up a book from the bookshelf beside the stairs and flopped into his worn overstuffed armchair. There were many more chapters to this ancient runes textbook he had yet to drudge through.

The rest of the week passed without incident: Harry relaxing in his store and selling a book here or there and Steve running out on missions for Fury before returning home to sketch out more pictures of Harry. Fury kept an eye on both men with the help of Agent Hill, and Bruce continued to analyze the sweater thrown onto his work table. Coulson met up with Harry once; he purchased a book on French cuisine and then discussed some of the recipes with the blonde super soldier later the same day while returning from a particularly exhausting mission abroad; the constant time-zone changes were beginning to wear them down.

It was a few weeks before Steve had a moment of peace in which to enjoy his newly acquisitioned book; S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers had been called to break apart several violent protests and terrorist attacks from all over. Steve would have been happy to never see that much sand again, though he doubted their work in the Middle East was over. He'd begun carrying his small sketch pad with him more often on missions, tucking the little book into a pant pocket or behind his vest. He hadn't been this full of inspiration in years, not since meeting Peggy. His heart still gave a twinge at the thought of her, but the pain had dulled quite a bit since he'd been thawed out. He'd also made a point of not thinking too deeply on the subject of the small brunette that was quickly filling his sketchbook. Harry was simply interesting, that was all. No life-altering sub-text or improper thoughts at all, none.

Alright, so he wasn't even fooling himself anymore.

He hadn't been this fascinated with a person since he'd become involved with Peggy. There was something about the firm confidence in the smaller man's shoulders, and the shy smiles that would slowly bloom from an errant comment.

Harry was peculiar, and Steve was curious.

He'd nearly finished the book after two solid days of reading, though he'd had to claim he was sick with the stomach flu to really get any peace. Steve didn't like to lie, but doing so was better than strangling Stark or insulting Coulson. He'd finished the book and lay where he'd planted himself, lengthwise along the living room couch. The book lay closed on his chest, slowly rising  
and falling with each breath. The tips of his fingers rubbed absently at the corner of the pages while his mind whirled with thoughts. He hadn't expected the novel to be so enthralling and motion inducing. Though the wars had been fought twenty years apart, what he'd experienced in the Second World War and what both the character Robert Ross and his own father had been through were still similar. He'd found himself choked with emotion on more than one occasion, knowing the panic and the dread that had filled his stomach on more than one occasion. He'd been lucky, no matter what anyone else said. He'd pushed past his fear, sure, but that wasn't the reason he'd lived through the battles and the eventual sinking of the ship carrying the Tesseract.

Steve sighed and ran his hands down from his fringe and across his face, wiping away imaginary signs of fatigue. He was exhausted physically from the past weeks of running and fighting, but emotionally he felt refreshed and light. He glanced over the top of the couch at the digital clock on the oven. It was barely noon, plenty of time to get out and do something with his day. He glanced down at the book for a moment, debating, before gently setting it on the coffee table and sitting upright. He stretched, groaned, and stood. It didn't take long to change out of his baggy sweatpants and t-shirt, shower, and redress in soft light jeans and a red-plaid button-up. He tucked his phone and wallet into his pockets and left the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him. He'd keep the book rather than trading it back to Harry for something else. He was far too attached to the story and would like read it again in the near future.

As he'd predicted, Coulson met him the foyer of the Stark Building and escorted him to another black SUV. Steve was dropped off at the same corner as his last visit, and quickly walked to the shop. The tinkle of the bell as he opened the thick door made him smile, which only grew wider at the muffled greeting Harry threw his way from the back of the store. This was quickly followed by a loud thump and several expletives that had Steve's eyebrows climbing under his fringe. He shut the door behind him and made use of his long legs, quickly coming upon the pile of cardboard and grumbling Englishman.

Harry didn't acknowledge his presence, instead continuing his grumbling. He quickly stacked a number of thick cookbooks from the pile on the floor and made to stand. Only, of course, to find the cardboard stuck around one leg. There was a moment of tense silence in which Steve desperately tried to keep from laughing. The moment passed when Harry began to kick his foot out in a desperate attempt of dislodging the stubborn cardboard. When one or two kicks did nothing, Harry's motions increased and soon he was using both hands to rip at the thick brown  
paper product. His grumbling had increased to hisses and yowls of frustration, and Steve could no longer hold in his laughter.

The blonde was bent over at the waist, hands clutching his stomach as tears of mirth streamed from his eyes. He really shouldn't be laughing, but there was something in Harry's frustrated struggling that reminded him of a kitten pitted against a sticky-note. That thought actually dropped the blonde to his knees where he then fell over onto his side and continued to laugh between gasps for air.

Eventually, Harry was left standing among a pile of shredded cardboard, huffing. His face, neck, and even ears were red from exertion, and his fingers twitched as though they were looking for another victim. His hair stood up in odd directions and his sweater was hitched up on his right hip while it sloped off of his left shoulder, baring an expanse of the black shirt underneath. After a moment to catch his breath, the brunette turned and looked at his customer and possible-friend, who was still a giggling puddle of blonde American; Steve was certainly giggling, there was no other way to describe the high-pitched spurts of mirth that were escaping his curled form.

Harry, feeling his Marauder blood flush to the surface, felt his face melt into a vicious smirk. He turned to face the blonde and stepped quietly through the remains of his arch-nemesis until he was looming over the downed man. If Steve had been in control of his facilities at that moment and taken the initiative to watch the brunette, he could have prevented what happened next.

Harry pounced.

Steve squawked.

Harry, though much shorter than Steve with a far more lithe frame, was devilishly fast. His fingers found the other man's ribs and began to play him like a set of ivory keys. He followed Steve's flailing movements to and fro as the blonde attempted to dislodge his attacker, and had he not been so out of breath from his previous stint of debilitating laughter, he would have likely had the upper hand in this bout. But Steve was not in control of his facilities, and was left to the not-so-tender mercies of Harry's quick digits.

Steve was a large man, broad and made up of thick slabs of muscle rolled into an eye-pleasing silhouette. While he was capable of great speed and strength, he wasn't able to keep up with Harry's quick strikes and dodges. Though he gave the brunette no small amount of resistance.

Soon enough, Steve's wiggles had Harry resorting to playing dirty.

The brunette, giving up all pretense of playing fair, because who in their right mind would play fair in a tickle-fight, climbed astride the blonde's stomach. He braced his legs on either side of the lean waist, knees planted just below the plume of Steve's rib cage, and hung on for dear life. Steve's hands batted at his own, managing for a second or two to actually grasp one of the slim appendages or the delicate wrists, before he was grasping at empty air, Harry having managed to slip out without any effort. Apparently super soldiers, not that Harry knew Steve was one, had no resistance to light fingers. For a few moment more they jostled and grabbed, tickling and being tickled, and all around gasped for air, before Steve had an actual idea and thought to flip them over.

He clamped his biceps down on either side of Harry's thighs, having moved up around the blonde's ribs themselves, grasped the brunette's hands as best he could, and pushed upwards against the floor with his left foot, rolling them so that Harry was trapped, legs wrapped around Steve's waist, under the blonde's muscular bulk. The movement startled Harry enough for Steve to get the upper hand, and was soon running his own skilled digits along Harry's own metaphorical piano keys. Harry jerked and bucked, wiggled and shoved at Steve's shoulders, attempting to push himself upwards and then down in an attempt to get away from Steve's wicked fingers. Neither man gave thought to how it felt for their flesh to slide together. Steve pointedly focused on the choked giggled and bursts of laughter that his ministrations were eliciting from the brunette under him. He tried to push down the tight heat that pooled low in his belly each time Harry's groin came in contact with his stomach, the clerk merely jerking in a way that would theoretically allow for escape.

It didn't take long before Steve found his hands captured and held captive above Harry's head, his nose just brushing the tip of Harry's. The other man's breath, smelling lightly of oranges and something spicy, fanned against the hot, flushed skin of Steve's face. Harry's eyes were crinkled in mirth, his cheeks rosy and pink under his light tan. His mouth was set in a wide grin, displaying nearly perfect, white teeth; the only imperfection being rather sharp canines and an upper tooth twisted slightly in its socket. He distractedly catalogued that as a trophy sustained from a particularly vicious fist-fight or encounter with something particularly stiff to the face. There was a dimple at the right corner of Harry's mouth, on Harry's right, not Steve's, and the blonde tried very hard not to think about letting his tongue out to see if it really was a dimple, and not some delicious morsel of biscuit the brunette had only missed during lunch.

Harry was doing much the same as Steve in his perusal of the blonde, though he was more focused on ignoring the flush of arousal the press of their bodies caused than the actual feeling of attraction. He'd admitted to himself in their first meeting that he'd found the blonde attractive, but he wasn't about to jump ahead of himself, a wrestling match didn't mean the other man felt the same. Though he did love how Steve's pale fringe stuck to the man's pale skin with the lightest sheen of sweat. How clear his blue eyes were as they crinkled in mirth, staring down at Harry in a look of wonder and happiness that the Englishman hadn't expected to see. The American's chin was slightly indented at the point, something that he found unbelievably classy and gorgeous, for really no reason at all. He even relished the feeling of Steve's hands eagerly clasping at his own as they reached above Harry's head, their muscles straining to simultaneously hold themselves up and still at the same time. Steve smelled of warm flesh, coffee, and charcoal; a scent that was undeniably Steve. Harry couldn't help but flare his nostrils, taking in the man's enticing aroma and holding it in his chest like a precious treasure.

Harry made the first move, unknowingly letting his tongue out to smooth its way across his lips, moistening the flesh as it travelled. The tip, on its way out, just barely brushed Steve's own lips, which made the blonde's breath catch in his throat, and his hips jerk forward unintentionally. Steve's eyes flicked down to the slowly moving appendage before fluttering closed, having to take a moment to breathe deeply; which didn't help, as he was inhaling Harry's own intoxicating scent. He hadn't known that the serum had made his sense of smell so intense, had it always been that way, or was this something Harry was causing? Steve opened his eyes and his mouth, meaning to ask something, he didn't exactly know what, of Harry, when he heard a crash from the front door.

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Notes: (1) I don't often leave notes in chapters, but I must admit, I have several of these mats spread about my own house. Nearly every guest has agreed that the mats feel like sex against their feet. Go to Costco and buy a crate, do it. You won't need a mattress ever again. (1.5) Also, I wasn't entirely sure if people would be comfortable with me writing out Harry's solo-scene. I'm perfectly comfortable with it, I write great smut! So, if you're interested, feel free to message me on Tumblr and I'll send the scene along. Maybe the commissions I had done for this work as well... *salacious wink*.  
You can find me at salios . tumblr . com (2) I apologize for the wait, I've just been having trouble with the plot progression of this story and another of mine named Spots under "The Hobbit" category. I also apologize for the shortness of the chapter, but with this out, I might be able to make headway.


	8. Chapter 8

Author: Salios

Fandom: Harry Potter/Avengers Crossover

Pairing: Harry Potter/Steve Rogers (Cpt. America)

Rating: T-M

Warning: This story will contain male/male relationships, including intimacy ranging from light kissing to possible sex. Swearing, and descriptions of violence and gore also possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own either fandom or their associated characters; this is a fan piece and not written for profit.

Earl Grey and Apple Pie

Chapter 8

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Steve moved first, blood thrumming with adrenaline. Still holding Harry's wrists and the other man's legs locked around his waist, Steve pushed off the ground and propelled them into a sideways roll. Once between the stacks he scrambled to his feet, pulling Harry up as well by their joined hands. Aside from their harsh breathing he couldn't hear anything, but gently tugged Harry behind him regardless. Steve didn't notice the frustrated glare that Harry directed at the back of his head. Steve's hand hovered over his right thigh, missing the familiar weight of his sidearm. He was regretting leaving it at the apartment. He hadn't needed it for a social visit but that now left him at a disadvantage if the enemy was armed and waiting. He couldn't climb the shelf and surprise the assailant from above, the shelves wouldn't likely hold his weight and his currently position wasn't nearly close enough to where Steve expected he needed to be. That led him to considering how to safely move Harry to safety without drawing attention to the shorter man. So focused on what to do next, Steve gave a start when Harry prodded him between the shoulder blades. He turned and glanced down to meet Harry's curious gaze. The brunette didn't say anything but raised one dark eyebrow, eyes flicking towards and front of the store and back, _'what next?'_ He didn't have time to reply before a voice rang out.

"Steve! Are you alright, do you need help?" Steve's shoulders relaxed and a whoosh of air left his parted lips. It was just Bruce, nothing to be concerned with.

"I'm fine, Bruce. Sorry to startle you." As he spoke the American turned to Harry and smiled apologetically. Harry merely shrugged and squeezed their still joined hands. Steve glanced down and had to repress a grin. Harry's cheeks were flushed, though whether from the tickling or the adrenaline rush Steve wasn't entirely sure. He took a second to admire the tanned skin peeking out from under Harry's customary sweater which was askew and hanging off one shoulder. Steve coughed and looked away. He gripped Harry's hand tightly once more before letting go. He really needed to speak to Bruce, but was reluctant to retreat from the comfortable bubble of companionship he was sharing with Harry.

Said brunette rolled his eyes and, with both hands, shoved Steve out from between the stacks. With all the grace of a newborn giraffe he stumbled, yelping, and barely righted himself before he collided with the wall. He turned a half-hearted glare back at Harry, who was snickering into his hands. Steve stuck his tongue out in answer and strode towards Bruce.

"Sorry about that," he called, meeting the scientist by the door. Bruce was crouched and carefully picking up pieces of a broken mug. He looked up as Steve came down to eye level and Steve could see his cheeks were flushed in embarrassment. "Apparently, you have a talent for breaking things no matter where you go." He gestured at the shards of ceramic and spilt liquid with a grin. Bruce scowled and shoved him with his free hand, causing Steve to burst into laughter. He and Bruce had worked at their friendship after what could have been the end of the world. While they initially had little in common the two men had eventually reached an understanding that while they didn't always have something to talk about the company was often enough. "So what brings you here? Did Stark run you out of your lab again," Tony Stark had a tendency to do just that, "or did you miss my glowing personality?"

"Actually, you brute, I hit a wall with my research and was dying of boredom." Bruce pointed his nose in the air and sniffed as though affronted.

"So... Did you literally hit the wall with your research, is the wall still standing?" Steve laughed and dodged Bruce's swipe this time. He and the scientist had got along well and often bantered back and forth. It was a bright spot on his usually lonely, boring days. A scuff of footwear behind him had Steve looking over his shoulder at Harry who watched them with one eyebrow raised. "You know, if you keep that eyebrow up all the time, it will eventually get stuck there." He was rewarded with another scowl and a roll of the eyes.

"Good to know you care about my dashing good looks." Harry tugged his jeans up slightly at the thighs and squatted down beside the other two, beginning to pick up pieces as he introduced himself to Bruce. "So now that you've broken the ice for me, or should I say the glassware, I should probably introduce myself," Harry grinned at Bruce who flushed a deeper red, "I'm Harry, owner and proprietor of this store, pleasure to meet you." He held out his free hand to shake. Bruce juggled the sharp fragments, still slick with liquid, and succeeded in jamming a particularly large piece into the palm of his hand.

Steve tensed, watching Bruce and expecting the worst. A small cut wasn't enough to force a change, usually, but it must have hurt quite a bit if his expression was anything to go by. Sometimes a great start or unexpected pain could cause a kind of lapse in Bruce. This usually meant he would lose his temper, momentarily, but not change; which left him with all of the anger and destructive tendencies but without the increased strength. Aside from a hiss of pain and a glare at the offending ceramic protruding from his palm, Bruce looked like any normal human who'd just stabbed himself. No veins bulging from his neck, green-tinged skin, or luminescent eyes; just a very annoyed, sluggishly bleeding human.

"Alright, my jokes are bad but they shouldn't be bad enough to cause self harm!" Harry collected the pieces in Bruce's other hand and tugged the man to his feet. Steve had to snicker at the different in height. "Give me those, yes there we go; now go sit at the counter down that way and I'll grab the first-aid box." Harry gently pushed Bruce in the right direction and glanced down at Steve who was still crouched, sitting back on his heels. Harry nodded his head towards Bruce and Steve replied in kind before standing and following his friend. Harry tossed out the broken bits and quickly strode past them and out of sight.

At Bruce's apologetic look, Steve chuckled and pushed him down onto Harry's stool, "it's alright; I sincerely doubt you came here just to break things and bleed all over. But now that you have," he dodged another of Bruce's half-hearted swipes, "what brings you down here?"

Bruce shrugged, "like I said, my research wasn't going anywhere and I was bored out of my skull. I called Phil first but he said he was babysitting." Both men chuckled; 'babysitting' for Phil meant watching Steve. "Since he wasn't available he told me where you were and suggested I follow you down. I didn't have any other brilliant ideas and I thought 'why not'?"

Steve enjoyed Bruce's company, but he was mildly annoyed at the intrusion. He finally had time to spend with Harry and now he had to share it. This was childish but he couldn't help but be jealous. His mind was already drawing similarities between the two men: both were quiet and reserved, very intelligent, compassionate, socially awkward, had a deep love of learning, and they had carefully guarded secrets. Steve's comparison brought a frown to his face. In all reality Bruce was a better match for Harry than he was, though he wasn't entirely sure that Bruce played for the 'home team'. It wasn't a discussion that came up, ever. The only time sexual liaisons were ever discussed between the team was when Tony decided to brag about his latest conquest. It was usually Steve or Natasha that managed to shut him up while Bruce would pale and excuse himself. The feeling of warm fingers covering the ones still resting on Bruce's shoulder drew Steve from his downward spiral. He glanced at his friend who was squinting at him intently. When faced with a particularly interesting or difficult problem he tended to squint, as though that would help him focus.

"What's wrong? Did I come at a bad time? I can leave if you'd like, I wouldn't want to intrude –" Steve cut him off with a shake of his head. "Alright then... But we should probably talk later, yeah?" The soldier agreed. Moments later Harry reappeared carrying a large wooden box. Bruce and Steve shared a glance and both men attempted to help by grabbing the box.

"Oi, hands off you lot, I can bloody well lift a sodding box of medical supplies, no need for male posturing," Harry hissed, turning so the box was out of reach of the two and setting it onto the countertop. "Honestly between Steve calling me short and you being so damn tall, I'm starting to feel a bit undervalued here!" His tone was light though he levelled a glare at both of them. They scrambled to apologize and Harry laughed. "Settle down and pass me that great big paw of yours." He took Bruce's hand and held it up to catch the light, eyeing the ceramic still embedded. "I don't think I have to tell you that it'll hurt coming out." Bruce nodded and Steve fought not to tense out of reflex. Harry's free hand stroked the flesh around the wound gently, not pressing enough to aggravate but firmly enough to distract. "Why don't I grab a pair of pliers, just in case, and – oh hell, what is that?!" Harry's head snapped up and stared at something over Bruce's shoulder. Both Bruce and Steve mimicked Harry and realized a second too late what had been done.

"Sorry, sorry, I know it hurts," Harry crooned gently. Bruce's face was screwed up tightly, his eyes slightly moist. Instead of offering a reply he merely hissed air out from between his teeth. Harry had pulled the shard out while they'd been distracted and pressed a previously white cloth to the wound instead. The refuse was tossed onto the tabletop, a good inch of it slick with bright crimson. Steve gulped and quietly shifted to stand beside Harry instead of behind Bruce. He wanted to trust in his friend's control, especially after the initial wounding, but old habits were hard to discard. He took in the pained grimace and clenched unwounded hand. Bruce still looked normal and that unnerved Steve instead of assured him.

Harry inspected and cleaned the wound before dressing it with movements born of practice. That made Steve wonder just how many times Harry had patched someone up, or himself. The thought made his stomach clench uncomfortably and Steve pushed it away. He didn't want to think about it, or why Harry's proficiency with dressing wounds made him think about the scars peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

"It's going to be painful for a while, but it doesn't need stitches, be thankful for that since I hate giving stitches." Bruce cracked a smile at Harry's poor humour. "I can't tell you how many times I've had to stitch myself up after some stupid attempt or another."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, "how stupid are we talking here: messing with kitchen knives stupid, or fighting with a jungle cat stupid." Steve was glad Bruce had asked and not him, he wasn't quite ready to pry into Harry's past though he was painfully curious. The brunette took a moment to think before he unzipped his sweater, tossed it onto the counter, and turned around.

"This one here," he lifted the back left corner of his shirt to show them a wickedly crooked scar over one kidney, "was from a monumental cock-up back when I was just out of school. A few mates and I thought it would be a lark to try some of that 'cow-tipping' business. At least I think that's what you Yanks call it. Needless to say, this idiot wasn't very good at the running away part." Steve and Bruce both winced at the thought. Being speared by a bull wasn't something either was interested in trying. "O'course we're all pissed as newts at the time, good whiskey that was, and they bloody well left me behind!" Harry chuckled and glanced over his shoulder at their horrified faces. He promptly burst into laughter and dropped the shirt corner to hold his stomach. After a moment he could breathe again and grinned at them. "I don't blame the lot of them, considering the beastie was livid and our higher brain functions had pissed off hours before." He shrugged, "I made it home and thought to myself, 'Harry, you stupid sod, look at what you've gone and done. You're bleedin' all over the carpet!' So I found my first-aid kit and somehow, don't even ask how, I managed to stitch it up. It's ugly as all sin but it did the job."

Bruce and Steve just stared at the Brit in horrified awe, jaws slack and hanging.

This, of course, sent the Englishman into another fit of laughter. He swatted at them, pointing at the furniture arranged in a lopsided semi-circle about the fireplace. He managed to gasp out, "go", before he was out of breath again. They eyed him cautiously and moved to the storefront. Bruce plopped himself down onto an overstuffed armchair and Steve perched on the armrest of the loveseat opposite. Harry cleaned up the mess and joined them a moment later, still grinning and flushed. Steve did his damndest not to think about how else he could get the shorter man to look like that. Harry flopped down onto the loveseat, legs curled beside him. He'd toed off his shoes at some point and his little toes, which Steve still thought were adorable, were clad in a mismatched pair of socks. One of which was decorated with little winged golden balls. Steve slid in beside Harry, much to the Brit's annoyance which he expressed by shoving Steve with one sock foot. Once they settled their conversation turned to literature and what Bruce might be looking for.

Steve really did try to ignore the toes tightly curled against his thigh. Apparently, Harry had 'monkey-toes' and had decided to used them to alternately 'hold' onto Steve's thigh and knead the firm muscle. To accommodate Steve's larger bulk, Harry had moved so that his back was against the armrest, knees tucked against his chest and arms pillowing his head atop them. Content to listen to the conversation instead of participate, Steve let his mind wander. Harry was just as captivating now as he was when they'd first met and the soldier was having a hard time accepting that his feelings were certainly not platonic. He'd woken several times in the time between visits from vivid dreams that often left his sheets tangled about his legs and an uncomfortable stiffness in his groin. The first few times he'd tried to play the dreams off, telling himself that it was some dark-haired woman he'd seen on the street. Or that it was such and such actress from a film he'd recently watched. But soon enough he had been forced to admit that his indecent thoughts of the Englishman weren't contained to his sleeping hours. More than once he'd been shocked out of a day dream where the green-eyed man was present. No amount of denial on the subject had helped, especially since all he had been able to sketch, for weeks, had been Harry. He'd filled that initial sketchbook with everything he could remember; fingers, toes, hair, shoulders, and back. He'd even sketched out his impression of Harry's behind, embarrassingly enough, what he imagined the brunette might look like in the throes of passion. The last one had been a shock. He hadn't realized the nature of the sketch until he'd been adding colour with chalk pastel. The flush to the man's cheeks hadn't been from laughter or exercise, but something completely different. Steve gulped and pushed that memory away, not wanting to deal with too-tight jeans at that moment.

Though, if Harry didn't stop kneading the flesh of his thigh it wouldn't be his thoughts that ended him.

Steve clued back into the conversation by a sharp prod to his ribs. He yelped and swatted Harry's hand away. There was a sharp _'snap!'_ as their flesh connected and he saw Harry wince. _'Shit, I didn't hold back. Oh God, did I hurt him? Please don't tell me I broke something...'_ Steve's panic must have shown on his face because Harry smiled at him though it was slightly strained. The shorter man shook out his hand before tucking it into the crook of his other arm.

"Sorry, shouldn't have startled you like that. But, ah – would you like some tea?" Steve noted Bruce's worried look, he'd taken his lower lip between his teeth and was nibbling at it, and swallowed.

"Ah, n-no, I'm alright, thanks. I'm sorry Harry, I hadn't meant to –" Steve's apology was halted by the shake of Harry's head.

"Don't worry about it, no harm done. Now," his smile was blinding this time and Steve had to consciously force his lungs to take in air. "Tea, did you want some?" Steve took a moment to reply, still slightly blinded. He nodded, not trusting his voice. When Harry made to stand Steve jerked a hand out to cover one knee,_ 'I'm touching his knee! Breathe Steve, breathe!'_, stopping the Brit.

"Ah, no, I'll get it this time. Think of it as an apology for the abuse." He nodded his head at Harry's hand, still tucked away. Harry gave him a look that clearly said, '_you're an idiot, but you're an endearing idiot so you get away with it this time'_, but resumed him comfortable seat. His toes squeezed Steve's thigh tightly. He glanced at Bruce and received a shake of the head at the unspoken question. Steve wiggled until he was free from both Harry's enticing toes and the overly comfortable armrest. Harry, the annoying little thing he was, sprawled out on the couch and took up the warm spot he'd left behind. Steve could have sworn he heard a soft sigh as he walked away.


	9. Chapter 9

Author: Salios

Fandom: Harry Potter/Avengers Crossover

Pairing: Harry Potter/Steve Rogers (Cpt. America)

Rating:  
T-M

Warning: This story will contain male/male relationships, including intimacy ranging from light kissing to possible sex. Swearing, and descriptions of violence and gore also possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own either fandom or their associated characters; this is a fan piece and not written for profit.

Earl Grey and Apple Pie.

Chapter 9

It took Steve a minute to find the kettle and tea supplies, though he didn't mind as it gave him time to think. Harry was something else... What, exactly, he had no clue. But the other man was certainly surprising and enticing in all sorts of ways that didn't entirely have to do with sex (not that he was think about sex, thank you very much). He'd obviously had an 'interesting' life up to this point if his obviously condensed and edited life story was anything to go by. Harry's use of grapples and holds during their earlier tussle told Steve that the Brit had been thoroughly trained, though outside of those few moments the only indicator of a soldier was how Harry held himself. The word 'retirement' came to mind, and Steve snorted softly. Retirement; that was something he would love to one day try his hand at. He steeped the tea until it was strong and black before adding a bit of milk and sugar to both and carrying them back to the two men still seated by the fire. He gave Harry half a second of warning before he sat down in his previously vacated spot. _'Hah, take that!'_ he thought with a smirk.

Harry kicked him.

Then he took his tea and curled back up the way he had been, toes resuming their odd massage against the meat of Steve's thigh. Bruce snickered at them and Steve merely rolled his eyes. Any reputation he might have had as a battle hardened soldier was likely null and void at this moment, thanks to a certain someone. Harry glanced at him over the rim of his cup, eyes crinkled in silent laughter. Steve had to force his lungs to expand again and thought faintly, _'I'd kiss Fury if it meats seeing that look again.'_ He smiled back.

Harry continued to knead Steve's thigh with his toes, drink his tea, and carry on his conversation with Bruce as though all three were common occurrences in his everyday life. Steve merely closed his eyes and drank his own tea. He allowed the softly accented words, soft cushions, and the rhythmic flickering of the great fireplace to lull him into a trance. He stayed that way until something soft impacted his face and rocked his thankfully empty teacup. He opened his eyes into slits and glared first at Bruce, who was snickering behind his hand, and then at the Englishman who was trying and failing to appear innocent. Harry had relocated his mug to the floor and out of the way, smart man. Steve mimicked the brunette before taking action. Harry's arms were crossed over his chest, behind his bent knees which gave Steve the opening he needed. He snapped one hand forward in a feint to Harry's open right flank and as the brunette leaned towards the incoming appendage Steve's other hand snapped out and began prodded his exposed left side. The effect was instantaneous as Harry burst into loud, breathless laughter and trying in vain to swat away Steve's devilish fingers. Harry had ensured his own defeat before this battle had begun; his crossed arms were held in place by his own knees, pressed close by Steve's chest as he leaned over the brunette to reach his ribs. Steve pressed his advantage, he held onto the back of the loveseat with his left hand, bracing his weight to lean forward. His grin was wide and bright, eyes crinkling. His fingers danced along Harry's ribs and back before brushing at the crease of his underarm and then back down to his sensitive waist. Soon enough Harry admitted defeat, though it took Steve a few moments to realize Harry was attempting to call out, "I quit! I can't! P-please!"

Steve ended his torture and replaced the strikes with soft strokes of his fingertips. When Harry finally caught his breath and looked up from where he'd rested his head on his knees, his nose brushed Steve's. They seemed to fall back into this position often. Harry was so conscious of Steve's closeness that he went cross-eyed trying to watch the blonde's nose. Steve snorted gently and actually leaned forward to bump the tips of their noses. Harry's response was to scrunch his up and look down at it curiously.

That was about the time that Bruce and Steve gave up. Both men burst into laughter, Steve resting his forehead on Harry's raised knees, arm still curled around the back of the loveseat, his shoulders shaking. Bruce was holding his stomach as he let out great guffaws of laughter that were steadily causing him to slide down the chair cushions. The inevitable 'thump' of his behind hitting the wood flooring merely brought about another round of giggles from the two. Harry simply huffed in indignation and pried a hand loose to ruffle Steve's perfectly parted hair into a mess. He did so with glee and merely answered the blonde's glare with a Cheshire grin. Harry gently shoved Steve back with the heel of his hand on the blonde's forehead.

"Oi, that's enough of that, no more laughing at poor abused me. I don't think my dwindling ego," here he narrowed his eyes at Steve dramatically, "can take much more of you two." Harry's shove didn't send Steve far and he didn't remove his palm from the American's forehead. His fingers were buried in the pale strands, small tufts poking out from between the digits. Steve's cheeks were flushed slightly and he tried very hard not to close his eyes in bliss. His feelings for Harry, he'd given up denying them because really it was obvious to even him that the brunette held sway over his heart. Steve leaned into the touch and smiled shyly at Harry from around his wrist. The other man's sleeve was pulled back slightly and Steve could see small white swirls against his tanned skin. More scars. He knew better than to ask about them, but that didn't mean he wasn't curious. That was a discussion for later, much later, when they were both willing and comfortable and not fearful of their own secrets. Harry kneaded the blonde's scalp for a second and then retreated, laying his arm back across his lap.

"Bruce, did you have any preferences for books? Since, if you hadn't noticed, this is a bookstore." He grinned and Bruce, still breathing heavily from his laughter and on the floor, grinned back.

"I didn't come here with anything in mind, but I suppose it wouldn't be right to leave empty-handed." He paused, thinking, "I realize you don't carry much on technology or science, but what about mathematics? I love puzzles and equations."

"Hmm... I might have something..." Harry hummed softly, chewing his lower lip in thought. It didn't take long before he sat up straight and grinned, looking very pleased. "There's one thing I have that might work, give me a moment to find it." He stood after giving Steve another playful shove with his sock feet and loped to the back. They could hear the sound of creaking stairs and a door opening, signalling Harry had retreated upstairs into his apartment.

Mimicking Harry's earlier slouch, Steve splayed his broad frame over the cushions of the loveseat, legs hanging over the armrest. His head was pillowed on the warm spot Harry had left behind and he hummed in appeasement. He was likely to just fall asleep here and not get up for days. He didn't even mind that half of him wasn't even **on** the couch.

"What aren't you telling me...?" Steve started at Bruce's soft whisper, opening his eyes and glancing over at the scientist. He'd pulled himself back up into the large chair and was watching Steve, his chin resting in the palm of his hand. Bruce was too quick, too observant. He saw things that no one else did but knew better than to blurt out his observations. He wasn't conniving like Natasha or Clint. After nearly a year working as a team he still didn't trust the two agents, knowing that as close as they were to becoming friends their loyalty would always be to Fury. Bruce kept most of what he learned to himself because he was used to keeping a low profile, not because he was intending to use it down the line to his own advantage.

Steve rubbed a hand down his face before he answered, carefully wording his response. "He kind of...draws me in..." He quirked a weak smile at Bruce who returned it with one of his own, "I've only spent time with him once before, when we met a few weeks ago." Steve glanced down as his hands clenched and unclenched on his knees. He didn't know how to explain what Harry was to him, or how the shorter man made him feel. He was saved from further verbal floundering by Bruce's hesitant voice.

"...He's like that first scent of home. Like a warm blanket and deep calm in the middle of utter chaos. Things that didn't make sense before, that you couldn't quite grasp, somehow become understandable and _easy_." Steve looked up, watching the lines of Bruce's face as he answered his own question. "He isn't demanding or compelling, not in the least. It's like he's holding out what he has to offer without expecting you to take it. And if you don't, he won't be offended." Steve could only nod in agreement, not sure if Bruce could see him. The scientist glanced up and met Steve's eyes with his. The iris was a gradient of colour, the blue of his own eyes fading into the vibrant green of the Hulk's. Both parts of the man were awake and attentive. Both halves stared out of one body at Steve and though he should have felt fear he merely felt calm.

It made sense. Steve had been apart from the world around him for most of his life. He'd spent years trying to become like everyone around him just to fit in, but the moment he got close to his goal it changed on him. Before he had been too weak, too slow, too small, and imperfect, now he was too strong, too fast, too big, and **too perfect**. He couldn't win, and that was a wound that had been left to fester. Meeting Harry had changed that. He didn't feel hollow anymore, defeated or without purpose. If Bruce's words were to be believed, he'd felt the same loosening in his chest.

They didn't have anything to say to each other after that, content to enjoy the warmth of the fireplace and the smell of old books. It wasn't long before Steve's ears picked up the sound of soft footsteps coming back down the staircase. They touched down onto the shop floor and stopped. Steve cocked his head to the side and strained his ears; nothing. Maybe Harry had grabbed the wrong book? He opened his eyes, moving to sit up, only to find himself nose to nose with the Brit.

Steve yelped. He also swore and, without thinking, took a swing at Harry. The brunette easily dodged and flicked the tip of Steve's nose in retaliation. The blonde scowled and sat up, shifting until his spine was against the armrest behind him. His feet still hung over the edge. Harry merely raised one dark brow at him and pulled over a side table from another ring of chairs. He then plopped a pile of books on top and looked at Bruce expectantly. Steve was still mildly annoyed at Harry's stealth and the flick to his nose, but also ashamed that he had once again swung at his friend. His blow hadn't connected this time and Harry had easily dodged, even with Steve's enhanced speed. The Brit had been expecting Steve to react instinctually; he'd been provoking Steve. That didn't do more than make the blonde's mouth twist unhappily.

"So I had an idea what to send you home with, but I have a few options." He gestured at the stack of books, "these are all on the same subject, arithmancy, which is probably the closest topic I have to mathematics." He rubbed the back of his head and smiled sheepishly. Bruce glanced at Steve, who shrugged in response mouthing, '_I have no idea_'.

"Arithmancy is the study of..." Bruce let his sentence trail off expectantly.

Harry flushed so red Steve could see the tips of his ears pinken.

"Ah, well, I don't really know to be perfectly honest," Harry coughed again. "I took the class for a month, realized I would have a better chance of my Po – Chemistry Professor being nice than understanding the topic, and dropped it. I grabbed a few to hopefully find one that's descriptive enough for you to start with." He shook his head and sat down, flustered. Which meant that since Steve was still lounging comfortably on the stunted couch Harry plopped himself down on Steve's lap. Steve's eyes promptly grew to the size of saucers, his hands clenched against the back and side of the loveseat, and he tried to keep very, very still. He also threatened his lower half against enjoying this in any way, shape, or form. He was only partially successful on the latter of his actions. The warmth Harry's behind radiated made his jeans feel far too tight, and the long-fingered hand that had fallen to grip his thigh by instinct felt like a band of heated steel. He was done for. Any shreds of denial left in his skull were now truly and utterly gone. Now to keep any dignity he hadn't already lost.

Bruce watched them, taking in Steve's wide eyed stare and slack jaw and Harry's undoubtedly red face. The little shocked squeak Harry had emitted had gone right to Steve's groin. It hadn't gone unnoticed if the Cheshire grin on Bruce's was anything to go by.

"Well then Harry, if we split the pile," he leaned forward and picked up the topmost book from the pile casually. His eyes flicked away from the other two men for a second and then focused on Steve's face.

'_Oh no, no no no no no. Bruce you little shit, don't you dare – !'_

With an underhand throw, Bruce tossed the book towards the two of them, barely sex feet away. He'd purposefully aimed high. The arc of the toss resulted in Harry pushing off the ground with his toes, body tense and back slightly arched. He caught the book easily with an outstretched hand just behind him, and has Steve not been so busy focusing on his own rising (hah) issues, he would have been a bit impressed by the blur of Harry's hand as it shot out to catch the projectile. Ultimately this left Bruce looking very pleased, Harry mildly annoyed, and Steve panting from exertion.

'_Honestly who does that? What happened to the supposed 'bro-code'? ...I need better friends..._' Steve alternated glaring at his crotch and at Bruce.

"Rule number one, no throwing my books!" Harry scowled then promptly pelted the old textbook back at Bruce, its spine impacting the scientists head and bouncing off. "**I'm** the only one allowed to throw things at people." He smirked at Bruce's glare and leaned against the back of the loveseat. His right hand returned to Steve's thigh and his left settled on the blonde's stomach. Steve was rather lightheaded; both from the lack of blood in his upper body and the lack of air in his lungs. Apparently he didn't need to breathe.

'_Okay, Steve, relax. It's alright, nothing to worry about, just two friends...touching...'_ He gulped, '_completely platonic, no untoward thoughts, nope none at all. Harry isn't drawing circles on your stomach, nope. He isn't planted perfectly at all; he's sitting on your...stomach..._' Steve really was terrible at lying to himself. He was also terribly conflicted when Harry stood and stepped towards Bruce. Steve took this blessed opportunity to sit up and drop his feet back onto the floor. He sincerely doubted he'd survive another instance like that. '_At least today_', his brain offered. He promptly shot it with a mental pistol.

"Give it here," Harry took the earlier projectile from Bruce, who was still rubbing absently at his head. He opened the cover and glanced inside before closing it and handing it back. "That one's a seventh year textbook, see how thick it is?" He put the thicker book aside and took up a smaller one that was in almost perfect condition, a fond smile on his lips, "this is a second year book, and more likely to be of use." He passed it to Bruce who opened the cover and glanced at the introduction. He nodded after a moment and closed it, tucking the text under his arm and standing.

"Sounds good to me, I like the added challenge of it. How much do I owe you?" Bruce paused in reaching for his wallet as Harry shook his head. "I can't take it for free Harry."

"Yes, you can; that book was originally owned by a good friend of mine. You remind me a lot of her. She'd likely be thrilled with you taking it home." He gave Bruce a stern look when the other man made to argue.

"Why does he get something for free?" Steve couldn't help it; he grinned and prodded Harry's back with a finger, noticing how the brunette's shoulders twitched.

Harry glanced back at him with raised brows, "because he's better looking than you." He didn't even hesitate to reply, voice deadpan. Steve's jaw actually dropped. Bruce promptly snorted and covered his mouth, obviously trying not to laugh.

Steve spluttered for a moment, scrabbling for something to reply with and settled on crossing his arms and hunkering down into the seat with a glare. Harry merely laughed at him and reached out to shake Bruce's hand. He led the other man out and waved goodbye from the door before flipping the sign to 'closed' and pulling down the shades. It was only early afternoon at that point and Harry didn't usually close until much later, or so the sign listing his hours of operation stated. Finished his task, Harry spun on one foot and practically sauntered back to where Steve was still eyeing him moodily from the loveseat. Harry shuffled the stack of books over and then sat on the vacant table. He rested his forearms on his thighs and met Steve's gaze.

'_I'll have to go back and redo some of my sketches; his eyes are much, much brighter..._' Steve's arms relaxed and slid until they were resting loosely on his bunched stomach, his frame still slouched on the loveseat. Harry's eyes were still vibrantly green, but the darker evergreen had grown, leaving only a thin ring of fresh grass around the pupil and outer edge. Steve's gaze ran over Harry's pert nose, up across one brow, over a faded scar on his forehead, and to the fringe of black silk that shadowed one eye. He could feel Harry analyzing his own face and held still. He didn't feel the need to hide. He had his own secrets but those weren't blaringly obvious, and his attraction to Harry hadn't been well hidden in either instance they'd met. Steve wasn't afraid; nervous oh _hell_ yes, but not afraid.

So when he sat up, shuffling to the edge of the cushion and mimicked Harry's hunched stance he was pleased that the other man didn't move. And when Steve jerked forward and grabbed the back of Harry's head with his left hand to smash their mouths together, Harry merely sighed and kissed back.


	10. Chapter 10

Author: Salios

Fandom: Harry Potter/Avengers Crossover

Pairing: Harry Potter/Steve Rogers (Cpt. America)

Rating: T-M

Warning: This story will contain male/male relationships, including intimacy ranging from light kissing to possible sex. Swearing, and descriptions of violence and gore also possible.

Disclaimer: I do not own either fandom or their associated characters; this is a fan piece and not written for profit.

Earl Grey and Apple Pie.

Chapter 10

* * *

At the first press of lips Steve felt one of Harry's hands latch onto the stiff collar of his shirt and tug. The strength behind the quick motion was enough that he felt the first few buttons of his shirt pop free, the sound obscenely loud. Steve groaned into Harry's mouth, not caring that their teeth clacked or how the slide of their mouths was a little too wet. He tilted slightly to more comfortably slot their lips together. This meant their noses were no longer touching, allowing the soft, warm bursts of air from Harry's nose to pass over Steve's heated cheek. At the new angle, and the addition of Steve's tongue, the short brunette moaned. He tugged on Steve's shirt and pressed closer at once. The thin cotton of Harry's shirt did little hide the warmth of his chest. Steve's free hand came up to Harry's shoulder before stroking down across his shoulder blade and waist to settle at the small of his back. The tips of his fingers brushed the bunched mound of muscle under the waistband of Harry's jeans, making the younger man's hips jerk.

Steve grinned into the kiss. He gently rolled the fingers of his left hand around the back of Harry's neck in a massage while his right arm wrapped around Harry's waist. With a miniscule amount of effort and a puff of breath he pulled Harry from the table and onto his lap. Firm thighs settled around Steve's hips, digging into the cushions behind them. The arm around Harry's waist dropped until the width of Steve's hand was palming the firm curve of one arse cheek.

Harry laughed and pulled back enough to nip at Steve's lower lip with his teeth. His grin was wide. The colours in Harry's eyes were bright dashes of amusement against the darker curtain of lust. The hand previously holding Steve's collar became nestled into the short strands at the back of the American's neck and he nearly purred at the sensation.

Their frenzied kissing slowed until the two men were all but cuddled together; Harry still comfortably planted in Steve's lap. They butted noses and traded sweet, quick kisses. Harry pressed his forehead to Steve's and didn't look away. Humming contentedly, the American gave another gentle squeeze to the back of Harry's neck but otherwise didn't move.

"So...is this something new then?" The sleepy murmur of Harry's voice was barely tinged in lust, just enough for Steve's next breath to shudder slightly.

"Hmm...?" He really didn't have it in him for a more articulate response.

"This," Harry nudged Steve's nose and pecked his lips. "Is this something new for you?" As though realizing how obscure the question was he quickly elaborated, "I mean, the whole snogging a man part."

Steve didn't answer until he'd comfortably wrapped both arms around Harry's waist and gave a gentle squeeze. "Not...not entirely. I mean, I _am_ in the Army, after all." His cheeky grin startled a bark of laughter from Harry. "But I never gave it much thought until I met you." He shrugged, cheeks slightly pink. "I hadn't considered that I might be gay until then." Though he sat slouched on the couch cushions with his arms lazy around Harry's waist, Steve's shoulders were tight with tension. It was obvious the blonde had kept from looking too intently at the 'why' portion of his attraction.

Harry gently cupped Steve's cheek with one scarred palm, his smile soft and fond. "Steve, you don't have to put a label on how you feel." He rewarded the blonde's honesty with another peck to the lips, "having feelings for me doesn't automatically make you gay."

He frowned, "but, isn't that what being gay is? A man liking other men?"

Harry leant back slightly, though he didn't remove his hand from Steve's cheek. "Just because you're attracted to men doesn't make you gay. There are different kind of attraction, and many different sexual orientations. You don't have to limit yourself to a _word_." He smiled. "I've always been a firm believer in the idea that whomever makes a person happiest is who they should spend their lives with, gender aside. Do you know how many people have publicly identified as Asexual? I don't know all the terms, and I won't pretend to understand everything about it, but I can tell you to just relax." He poked Steve's nose. "As you Americans are always saying, 'go with the flow', and all that rubbish."

Steve gave a mock grimace and mimed biting at Harry's fingers. He was rewarded for that with the press of both Harry's index and middle digits of that hand to the plump, and rather swollen, curve of his lower lip. The blonde jumped, startled at the gentle press. Slowly he opened his mouth enough to gently swipe at those two digits with the tip of his tongue. The answering exhalation of breath from Harry was as much a moan as anything else. His tongue made another few passes before retreating. Steve pursed his lips and kissed Harry's fingers.

"I think I can do that, just...just don't be angry with me for not knowing what to do..." He didn't want to screw this up. Steve wasn't as virginal as his teammates and the media made him out to be. The blonde had enjoyed his share of bedroom trysts and heteronormative dates. He liked sex, hell with his physical abilities he liked to think he was rather creative in bed, but being with a man wasn't something he'd ever considered. Well, not in any detail, really.

Harry smiled and withdrew his fingers to press the pads against his own mouth, giving an answering kiss. He returned them to Steve's lips with a grin. "That, I can promise. But you can't be afraid to ask me questions. Without communication we can't make this work." He shrugged, "there are things you can't tell me, and things I won't (or can't) tell you. That's just how our lives are. But we can make do with what's available. Sound good?"

Steve's response was to tug the slim brunette into another round of heated kissing.

* * *

The pair spent the rest of the day alternating between small talk, another few pots of tea, and cuddling on the loveseat. After the third time Steve managed to elbow Harry in the ribs, the younger man had hissed under his breath and tugged his lover up. Steve laughed and allowed Harry to drag him to the back of the shop. Under the staircase leading up into what he assumed was Harry's apartment, was another door. Harry jerked it open and trotted down the steps. The American dutifully followed and found himself in a warmly lit basement. Two doors led off from the room they occupied, one to the right of the stairs and another straight ahead. The door on his right was closed, the other open enough for Steve to spot the lip of a bathtub and some pale cabinets.

"Come here and make yourself useful!" A throw pillow impacted with the side of Steve's face and he spluttered.

"That's three times today, _three!_"

Harry grinned viciously.

Steve grumbled under his breath but thumped over to where Harry stood, one hip pressed against the arm of an old, worn couch. He patted the back and gestured at the other side. The blonde huffed and moved to the other arm, giving Harry's discordant hair a gentle swipe. The squawk was worth the sting of Harry's palm left against his arse. Steve winked, Harry grumbled.

"Behave!" Steve laughed. "Fine, fine, if you won't behave then at least be useful, yeah?" Harry bent his knees and locked one hand around the front of his armrest and under the backrest. "I should have brought this bloody thing upstairs years ago." He tugged gently and his end of the couch rose, though it wobbled precariously.

"Stop, stop; you're going to hurt yourself, or me!"

Harry scowled and dropped his end with a _thump_. "Well then, what do you suggest _Mister Macho_?"

Steve rolled his eyes and rounded the couch until he had Harry wrapped in his arms again. He pressed a kiss to the crown of the brunette's head. "Remember the whole talking thing?" At Harry's reluctant grunt he grinned. "Well, I think I need to _communicate_," Harry swatted him for that, "something to you." He tipped Harry's head back so they could lock eyes. "I realize you don't much follow the news, but have you ever seen anything about Captain America?"

Harry's confused blinking was definitely in the top ten of Steve's favourite things.

"I've heard the name tossed about, but what does he have to do with us?"

Steve smiled.


End file.
